


Takes One to Know One

by andymcnope



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, Random Drabbles, Texts From Last Night prompts, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:42:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 25,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1261702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andymcnope/pseuds/andymcnope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random collection of drabbles, ranging from cracky to angsty. Each drabble lists the main pairing (or threesome) so you can pick whatever floats your boat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starling City's Original Earthquake Machine (Oliver/Felicity... kinda, Oliver/Sara, Felicity/Sara friendship)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> felicity and sara find out there's vigilante-inspired porn out there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See http://andymcnope.tumblr.com/post/77528413598 for how this came to be.

“Oh my…” Felicity’s voice trailed off as her eyes grew wider.

 

Sara’s body went still mid sit-up on Felicity’s living room floor. “What happened?” 

 

“Um, nothing,” the other woman replied from the couch until the laptop speakers started broadcasting some unusual sounds.

 

“Is that…?”

 

Felicity blushed deep red as she desperately hit keys trying to mute the laptop. “Porn, yeah. I mean, not. Obviously it is porn but I wasn’t  _trying_  to watch porn, not that there’s anything wrong with watching porn either. Except there  _are_  several valid problems with the pornography industry, but the one I’m worried about right now is the fact they made a vigilante-inspired skin flick, featuring none other than my boss  and your..  _whatever_  you’re calling him these days.”

 

Sara grabbed the towel Felicity had brought out and wiped her sweat, plopping down on the couch next to Felicity. “Okay, I gotta see this.”

 

“I don’t… I’ve never….” Felicity began to say but Sara just reached over and turned the volume up before hitting play.

 

“Relax, it’s just some lame movie,” Sara shrugged.

 

Felicity had a lot of concerns that moment, but her curiosity was winning out. “Fine, but hold this while I get some alcohol,” she added as she handed Sara the laptop.

 

Glancing at the wine rack above her fridge, she decided that wouldn’t be enough. She found the tequila under the sink and grabbed two shot glasses. She didn’t have limes but she knew from past experience Sara didn’t need them, so she headed back to the couch where Sara had rewound the video to the beginning.

 

Four shots later, Felicity hit play, telling herself the people who made this didn’t know the vigilante’s true identity so it should lessen the awkward factor.

 

It was all wrong of course; the man was too top heavy to the point his arms could hardly operate the low quality prop bow, and his skin was smooth everywhere; no scars and no tattoos, just a fake tan and the kind of moobs bodybuilder-type guys had sometimes. 

 

The first scene was pretty straightforward; the extent of the ~plot~ was that the vigilante was confronting a female socialite in her bedroom and Felicity was pretty sure the woman was not wearing much under her silk robe. 

 

_You have failed this town!_

 

Felicity and Sara started howling with laughter so hard they had to pause the movie. “Seriously, how hard is it to get a catchphrase right?” Felicity asked.

 

“Maybe they were afraid we’d sue for copyright infringement,” Sara replied as she caught her breath and hit play again.

 

Felicity had been right about the lack of clothing on the woman’s part, unless one counted crotchless underwear as  _clothing_ , but the woman had offered to repay her debt in other ways and this Hood was apparently not against the idea.

 

As the woman on the screen got on her knees and opened the zipper - Felicity cringed because come on, zipper? they were obviously not even doing their research - and covered the still soft member with her mouth.

 

Sara scoffed. “Sure, it doesn’t look too bad, but is that really worth $300 million dollars?”

 

“I must confess I have no idea what the current blow job market is like, but I would have to agree,” Felicity concurred. When the woman on screen finally pulled back, Felicity gulped loudly. “Oh…” she gasped, wondering if the camera added inches, or if it was a trick of light or what.

 

“Well, at least they got  _something_  right,” Sara smirked as she reached for the bottle of tequila.

 

Felicity’s throat felt unusually dry all of a sudden. When she finally felt able to speak again, she replied: “You don’t mean…”

 

Sara shrugged.  “Not one hundred percent accurate or anything but… pretty damn close. A lot more manscaping on this guy though.”

 

“How does it— don’t answer that. Actually, how do you— no, don’t answer that either.” Felicity accepted the bottle that Sara passed her, because the tequila might not help with the dry throat or her thoughts but it would at least keep her mouth from saying things for a few seconds.

 

“Very carefully,” Sara the unasked questions. “And then not carefully at all, but you know, it’s not impossible.”

 

“Just hard—  god I hate my brain sometimes.  _It just doesn’t look easy_ ,” she explained even though the woman on screen was now on all fours and it looked pretty easy actually. “I just never thought— not that I thought about this at all, but if I had, I have to say this is not what I expected.”

 

Sara pursed her lips, trying to contain her laughter, then reached for her burn phone. 

 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Felicity asked in a panic.

 

“Making your life at QC tomorrow  _very_  uncomfortable,” Sara admitted. “Not as uncomfortable as Ollie’s though.”

 

*

 

Oliver stirred from his uneasy sleep to see he’d missed several text messages from Sara.

 

_F found an Arrow-themed porno. we r watching it w/ our friend Patron_

 

_F is very worried about ur size. reassured her anything is possible if you try hard enough. something u might want to remember though for future reference ;)_

 

_fav line so far: “put ur arrow in my quiver”_

 

_apparently i had a cameo. at least they got the wig right, but not sure a bo staff is the most practical weaps once ur boobs are bigger than ur head_

 

_tequila bottle’s gone. F just asked if the island had penis growing abilities or if it’s always been this big, then almost passed our from embarrassment - here’s a pic_

 

_porno version of u just saved the entire city. w/ just ur dick. go u. citizens are all grateful_

 

_overall 6 out of 10. F is threatening to call out sick from both jobs tomorrow or perhaps for life_


	2. Slumber Party (Sara/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one time Thea Queen had the world's most boring birthday party so Sara could help Felicity ~relax~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (774): I just walked into a room at this party and someone yelled “dibs!” (prompt by ohmypreciousgirl)
> 
> (407) I'm too socially awkward and sexually frustrated to get through this evening sober. (prompt by hjea)
> 
> Pairing: Sara Lance/Felicity Smoak (but Oliver's there in spirit) (don't worry he's not dead)
> 
> Rating: M but it's not very smutty sorry

Knocking on the door to the Queen Man or, Felicity began humming under her breath, the same song that had played on her way there, and she shuffled on her feet. The door had barely opened before Thea was pulling her into a hug.

 

“You made it!”

 

“It’s your birthday, of course I did,” Felicity reassured her.

 

“Dibs on Felicity!” a familiar voice shouted from the direction of the media room.

 

Felicity blushed and frowned in confusion.

 

“Trivia,” Thea explained. “And your jammies are  _perfect.”_

 

“Probably the only time I haven’t felt underdressed in this house,” Felicity joked as she glanced down at her two-piece pajama set with cute emojis, even though it was actually true. “Great idea by the way, I totally thought you’d be closing down Verdant with a party for your 21st birthday.”

 

Thea scoffed. “Oh please, I can do that any day. I would much rather celebrate this with a slumber party, so I can forget I’m a responsible business owner. Plus I can build some mean pillow forts.”

 

“There you are,” Sara announced as she bounded up to meet them, in black boxers that Felicity was fairly sure were Oliver’s at some point, and an oversized t-shirt with a cloud forming a frowny face.

 

“Yo, birthday girl, need your help over here,” Sin shouted from the kitchen area, and Thea waved as she left them alone.

 

“Gimme,” Sara asked, gesturing at the wine in Felicity’s hand. “Come on, let’s go to the den, I know for sure there’s a corkscrew there.”

 

It was like Sara had read her mind, because the prospect of spending an entire evening with Oliver’s sister, Sin and possibly other people Thea knew, was starting to overwhelm Felicity; she could really use a glass of wine (or five).

 

The den was actually a huge room with books from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, and Felicity stared at them in the dim light; her fingers ran over leather-bound covers, examining the titles  as Sara worked on the wine.

 

“Hey,” Sara said softly as she pressed herself against her back, dimpled chin on her shoulder. 

 

The den was fairly out of the way of where the others were, so Felicity didn’t feel too self conscious about leaning back into Sara’s touch, feeling the familiar press of breasts against her. It felt like forever since they’d had time together, having just wrapped an exhausting hunt for some  _really bad_ guys, and even longer since it was just the two of them. 

 

“Hey yourself,” Felicity replied after way too long, an awkward beat as the words left her in a rush and turned her head so her nose brushed against Sara’s.

 

Sara’s voice dropped an octave as she said: “Trivia winners get the two-person sleeping bag.”

 

“And here I was, thinking you just wanted me on your team because of my big brain,” Felicity quipped as heat flooded her core. 

 

“Well, your brain is my favorite part of you," Sara admitted. "Guess which one is a close second?”

 

Felicity’s stomach dropped as she felt Sara’s hand find its way into her pajama pants. 

 

“The others,” Felicity said even as she lifted her hand to wrap around Sara’s neck, intertwining in the blonde curls.

 

“Sin’s trying to make nut-less birthday brownie, and neither of them can bake,” Sara explained as her fingers rubbed at all the right spots, teasing circles around her skin at first, then dipping inside her in quick motions, thumb pressing firmly against her clit. 

 

Felicity bit back a moan, her own hand slapping down against the expensive wood of the bookcase and gripping for dear life as her legs wobbled. Sara’s other arm slipped around Felicity’s waist, holding her up and wrapping her tightly the way she knew Felicity liked sometimes. 

 

The orgasm hit unexpectedly fast and hard, the already dim room going darker for a few seconds as Felicity struggled to remain quiet.

 

“Is that better?” Sara asked as she pulled her hand out of Felicity’s underwear and pressing a kiss to Felicity’s earlobe before pulling back.

 

Felicity nodded, smiling. It was a known trick to get her to relax, and though she hadn’t quite expected this considering where they were, it actually worked better than the wine would have.

 

“Good. By the way, my sister’s also coming over tonight,” Sara added. She wiped her fingers clean on Oliver’s boxers, grabbing Felicity’s focus, which made the words take longer to register.

 

When they did, Felicity felt the post-orgasmic flush turn into a full blush. 

 

She briefly considered suggesting playing charades instead of trivia; at least then her mouth would be less likely to betray her.

 

Okay, yeah, maybe the wine would be a good idea. 


	3. It's a Wrap (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (214):Sex on bubble wrap = best decision ever. (prompt by puzzledhats)

They have just moved into their first house together, and after Roy’s done moving everything in (definite pros to super strength and they are not above using their teammate’s skills), Felicity excuses herself to take a shower. 

Oliver busies himself in the fully finished basement, setting up a training area; it had taken them a few weeks of searching for the perfect house, but he’d fallen in love with the basement and Felicity had fallen in love with the oversized marble jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom. 

A sound like muffled gunfire startles him, and he goes on alert for a second before he hears Felicity’s laugh echoing through the house. He runs up the stairs to the family room, where she is sitting on the floor in one of his old t-shirts, damp hair and no glasses, unwrapping the china.

“Sorry, I figured we could have dinner so I was getting out some dishes and I got carried away,” she explains as she points to all of the open boxes neatly marked  _KITCHEN_  in her methodic handwriting.

“Bubble wrap?” he asks as he sees pieces of it all over the ground, from several boxes, as dishes and glasses litter the room. One is a jumbo roll they used to wrap a vase set Sara bought them long ago as a joke, Artemis shooting an arrow from one vase at Apollo on the other vase. 

“It’s a good stress reliever,” she assures him, twisting some in her hand and making them all pop.

Her face lights up, and he feels something in his chest constrict. “I thought that was my job,” he jokes, pulling back her damp hair to kiss her neck and ear.

She snorts even as she twists in his arms until she’s standing on her tip toes and brushing her lips against his jawline, informing him: “You induce my stress just as much as you reduce it.”

“Fair enough,” he gives in, pulling her up for a kiss.

“What about dinner?” she asks when they break away.

“I don’t need a plate.” He smirks against her lips, pulling her legs around his hips and dropping them to the ground, on the pile of discarded bubble wrap.

He strips to his briefs and peels her underwear off, kissing his way up her thigh and teasing her a bit as he takes his time. His knee pops a few bubbles on accident, and Felicity starts giggling. The almost unfamiliar feeling of mirth spreads in his chest as he covers her sex with his lips, enjoying the way her laughter dissolves into a breathy squeal.

At first, he can mostly just taste her body soap, fruity and subtle, but as he runs his tongue back and forth and suckles softly on the bundle of nerves, he can start to taste  _her -_  sharp and clean and briny - it makes him twitch in his briefs.

“Oliver,” she gasps when he uses his thumbs to spread her out, tongue diving deeper inside her. 

Her hips shoot up, and he avoids a broken nose thanks to his quick reflexes, but then bubble wrap is popping under her shoulders and he can’t hold it in any longer, chuckling against her. He considers pulling back, but she makes this new kind of noise at the sensation, so he holds her hips up, supporting her, and keeps his mouth where it is, and hums against her this time.

She swears as she slides a couple of inches due to the lack of traction below her, bubbles popping and then they’re both laughing too hard. He collapses next to her, the plastic clinging to his skin; Felicity swings her leg over his middle when she catches her breath, an expert hand moving his briefs out of the way before she’s sinking down on him, still wearing his t-shirt.

Her mouth always does this  _oh_  every time he gets all the way in, and even after this long, it still wrecks him. The bubbles continue to pop as they move, but he’s too focused on her now, his thumb finding her clit, just keeping a steady pressure for now since she’s the one controlling the movements. It works as she braces her hands on his chest, and grinds herself into his hips and thumb, working up a rhythm.

He sits up, plastic stuck to his back but he ignores it. Her head falls back as she starts to get there, the long column of her neck and sharp lines of her jaw make his throat close up, and he presses his face into her skin. 

Her moans echo in his mind, along with the memory of her laughter just minutes before, and her voice saying  _we’re getting a house_ weeks before, that disbelieving smile on her face. It takes him back to before, to when it felt as if they were just a hypothesis - unspoken emotions, stolen touches and long glances - but he’s not sure they were ever  _just_  anything, really, judging by the way his chest fills with warmth at the memories.

He lets go when she does, his hips fretfully pushing up into hers, colorful nails digging into his skin as her hands wrap around his shoulder, holding him close.

She rests her forehead against his, her warm breath brushing his face at first in quick intervals and then slowly and surely, his heart still thumping madly away.

There’s a satisfied smirk on her face when she finally pulls back, her eyes drifting closed as she tries to hide a yawn.

“Come on.” He gets up, moving towards the stairs with her in his arms; she sometimes fights him when he tries to carry her, putting her foot down and pressing a pointy finger at his chest and she assures him  _she’s quite capable of walking on her own, thank you very much._

This time she just objects with a soft “Hey!” even as she burrows further into his neck.

“I never got to carry you through the threshold,” he justifies with a smile.

“That’s when you get married,” she points out as another yawn escapes.

He scoffs, brushing his lips against her forehead as he gets to the second story landing. “Maybe if someone would stop turning me down.” 

He remembers the horrified look on her face the first time he’d tried proposing, how pale she turned before she ran away from the foundry. 

The second time had been on a hospital bed, and she’d been pale for different reasons, four new scars on her legs. It turns out she managed to get hit by a grenade before he did.

“Sorry to break it to you, but I just keep you around for your crime-fighting abilities and looks,” she teases as he places her on the bed, a new canopy piece they had delivered and assembled days before.

“You forgot mind-blowing orgasms,” he reminds her, pulling off his t-shirt from her torso, her damp hair mostly dry now, sticking up in funny ways, curls setting all over the place.

“I was gonna mention that, but I didn’t want to inflate your ego and all.” She smirks as she slips under the covers. “Gotta keep you humble.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” he replies as he slides into bed behind her, curving around her back on his side, brushing his lips against her shoulder.


	4. Drove Me Wild (Sara/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (352):This is the third time my roommate and I have drunkenly hooked up. I'm starting to think she's not as straight as she says she is. (prompt by insomniabug)

Sara thought the first time had been an accident.

Vigilante business had been slow and with a thunderstorm coming through, the crowd at Verdant had been sparse. Felicity had spent the evening showing her a mixology app, and Sara had crafted dozens of different drinks, the two of them (and occasionally Thea and Roy) slamming shots and cocktails back as they’d judged the concoctions.

The cab drive home had been uneventful even as a tipsy Felicity had babbled stories in a stage whisper, as if the cab driver would have been really outraged about the time she’d gotten pantsed in sixth grade.

The door to Felicity’s apartment had barely closed before Sara had felt soft lips pressing against hers; the action had been so unexpected, she hadn’t had time to think her reaction through -  she’d just instinctively kissed Felicity back.

When they’d broken apart, Felicity’s eyes wide had stared back at her.

“Are you drunk?” Sara had asked.

“Not anymore,” Felicity had replied.

They hadn’t made it past the couch that night.

*

The second time, Sara had been hurt, a stab wound an inch away from being fatal. Felicity had kept her lips pursed as she’d patched Sara up at the foundry, the rest of the team out looking for Sara’s attackers.

“I’m okay,” Sara had insisted as Felicity had finished dressing the wound. 

The silence had continued as Felicity threw the first aid items away.

“Hey, I’m serious. I’m okay,” Sara repeated, reaching out for Felicity’s arm. “Talk to me.”

“We got them,” Diggle’s voice echoed through the comms. “Heading back now.”

Sara’s hand kept their grip on Felicity’s forearm, her thumb running back and forth over the soft skin.

“I need time,” Felicity had finally said, refusing to make eye contact. “You should go home, get some rest.”

Sara could feel her eyes welling up, so she’d nodded, not trusting her voice.

As she’d crashed on the bed of Felicity’s guest room, the same one she’d slept on for a couple of months, she felt more pain about Felicity’s tone than she did at the stab wound.

Felicity had woken her up four hours later, sitting on the edge of the bed, voice breaking as she apologized.

“I’m sorry, don’t— I don’t do well with almost losing people I care about. I mean, who does, right? Sounds like a really stupid thing to say. And in our business I should probably be used to it. Or just learn not to get so attached to people.”

“Hey,” Sara had whispered, reaching out to pull Felicity into a hug. “I’m really sorry, I really am.”

“I never really had a roommate,” Felicity had babbled as she wiped at her tears. “Actually I had one for about three days at MIT but then she dropped out, and I always thought it was because of something I’d said. Especially when the housing department gave me singles for the rest of my time there.”

Sara had laughed, before innocently pressing her lips against Felicity’s. 

It hadn’t remained innocent much longer.

*

The third time is happening now. 

There’s no alcohol this time, no life-threatening injuries. Just a lazy Saturday morning on the living room couch; Felicity’s reading a book on her tablet as her fingers start stroking Sara’s scalp, while Sara pretends to watch TV. 

Sara  knows she’s there mostly for the company.

Fingers drift from her hair to her tank top, and before Sara knows it, Felicity’s head is between her legs, stopping every once in a while to ask if she’s doing it right.

Sara bites her lip, because it’s right, it’s really really right, and  _fuck_  she’s gonna come if Felicity keeps that up.

Felicity has this proud, goofy grin when it happens, glasses askew as she pulls back, colorful nails digging into Sara’s thighs. The sight makes Sara smile as she reaches to fix Felicity’s glasses, the stark realization this is more than comfort, and this is more than having fun.

There’s uncertainty as to what this really is, and they should probably  _talk about it_  at some point, but Sara doesn’t really care as she stands and pulls Felicity to the bedroom.


	5. Treasure Hunting (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Effie214 from a photo set "On vacation for the first time in years, one half of a husband-and-wife crime fighting duo finds a 17th century treasure map."

"No, Felicity," Oliver says sternly as she examines the decaying map. "You made me promise!"

Felicity bites her lip in thought, and it reminds him of the last time she bit her lip like that (on top of him in the nice canopy bed of their cabin, his thumb tracing circles against her folds).

She ignores him in that way she always does when she sees a puzzle, whether it’s code she cannot easily break, or something more personal. He tries using his quick reflexes to take the map from her - a move that would’ve worked many years before, but now it just looks like a well rehearsed routine -  _he reaches, she dodges… he feints, she glares._

"I said no superhero business for _you_!” She reminds him. 

"You know I hate that word," he replies with a frown. Switching tactics, he moves behind her, pressing his chin into her shoulder, and settling his hands on her hips; he turns her towards the lake, private and serene. It’s the reason they chose this vacation spot. He can smell her sunblock (SPF300, he’d joked) as he whispers in her ear everything he would like to do to her in the water.

She gasps softly, the skin of her hips tightening under his fingers as her abdominal muscles contract, and he smiles triumphantly - until he glances down at the map and sees a familiar symbol, something he hadn’t seen since he’d fought the League of Assassins all those years ago.

"Damn it," he curses, leaning closer to glance at the map. "How the hell does a treasure map with  _that_  end up on Lake Wackadoodle?”

"Lake Mackachitahoo," Felicity corrects him. "And I’m not sure it’s a treasure map. I think this was left here for us. I mean, look at this," she points out the Justice League symbol on the lower left. "What should we do? I mean, you don’t even have your  _bow._ " 

"It’s okay, I don’t need my bow. I still have my greatest asset," he adds as he presses a kiss to her temple, never over how lucky he’s been. She twists in his arms, and he glances at the scar above her bikini bottoms, four inches of discolored skin that had been stitched back together after their daughter entered the world urgently and unexpectedly; suddenly it doesn’t matter what they find where the X marks the spot.

"You’re making that face," she points out, undoubtedly recognizing his  _What did I do right to deserve you?_ expression.

"Come on, we have a treasure to find."


	6. Tip of My Tongue (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity tries to prove to Oliver the world won’t end if he is not in control. (jaegermighty's fault)

“It will take as long as it takes.”

 

These are words Oliver Queen really does _not_ enjoy hearing, especially in regards to her computer; he can’t control her programs, can’t use the voice of modulator to put the fear of god into them, can’t sweet talk information with flirtation and a smile. Sure he is not averse to computers, and he is above average in comparison to other end users she’s dealt with her entire life, but he doesn’t like to feel powerless.

 

He trains for the first two hours as her program continues to run the scan; the first hour taking out his frustration on Diggle (until their friend decides he’s had enough of Oliver Queen’s bad bad mood) and the second hour is spent on the salmon ladder and hitting the poor dummy (still, better the dummy than her computers).

 

Sweat dripping from his exhausted body, he goes to the makeshift shower area, the old pipes echo through the open space, and when he comes out to the main area, he’s wearing just a towel around his hips, obviously confident their teammates are gone for the night.

 

“Any progress?” he asks as he rubs water out of his hair, his chest and arms mostly dry except for the new drops that are getting everywhere.

 

“H—Hey, watch it,” she stumbles, not missing the ripple of the muscles as he does that. She puts herself as a shield between his crazy water flicking ways and her electronics, and he just sets his jaw stoically. “It will likely be a few more hours. You should go home.”

 

It’s futile, she is aware. She can’t go because she locked down the network for this, and the concept of going home alone is one he really dislikes. Just mentioning it seems to put him further on edge, and yeah she wants to get this guy as much as he does, but he is really not making this easier.

 

“Come on,” she says as she stands up, and tugs on him until he’s sitting on the office chair. Her hands find the muscles of his neck, running her thumbs over them but there’s almost no give. “You really need to learn to relax, for my hands’ sake,” she jokes.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling her hands in his grasp. She can’t see his face from where she’s standing behind him, but she feels him pressing his lips to her fingertips.

 

“I know you feel… impotent,” she says, feeling his entire body cringe at the word ( _men_ ).She pulls on the chair until it’s turning, sliding sideways into his lap. “Fine, you feel… like you’re not doing enough right now. You don’t have to be _in control_ all the time.”

 

“Yes, I do,” he argues, all steely resolve and tension.

 

“No, you don’t,” she argues, reaching between them and undoing the towel on his lap so it’s still covering him but she has room to work with. He’s not hard for once; he’s usually zero to sixty in under five seconds when it comes to their sex life, but right now she’s five steps ahead of him.

 

She runs her nails over his navel, letting her fingers flare out to trace the muscles and flesh covering his hipbones, mostly for her own enjoyment than his. Nevertheless, the towel tents up just slightly, his teeth grinding loudly.

 

She makes eye contact as her nails brush against the short hairs at the edge of the towel, neatly kept and still less abrasive than his facial stubble. He gasps as her fingers reach the softer than soft skin, just a hint of hardness underneath, but as she wraps a loose fist around him, he grows harder.

 

There’s a flicker of bliss and _love_ on his face, his eyes rolling back as his hips jump just slightly under her, but then she catches him glancing at her monitors, watching the progress.

 

“Stop,” she commands firmly, not using her loud voice; this is the one she’s found more effective, the one that can snap him out of murderous rage or deep self-hatred. “Look at me, Oliver.”

 

Her hands pull the towel apart, and she maneuvers her body on top on his until she can kneel around his thighs, on the edge of the chair, his hands automatically moving to her hips to steady her. She pulls her hair tie off, letting her hair cascade down her shoulder; she hadn’t straightened it since they’d planned on spending all day at the foundry, so it’s curling in weird ways.

 

The buttons on her cardigan are next, and it slides off her arms to pool around the wheels of the chair; her cotton bra (pink with white polka dots) joins the cardigan on the floor, her hands massaging the marks it left on her skin. As the tips pucker, she doesn’t miss the way his eyes drift down, the brooding stance finally starting to give way to arousal.

 

One of his hands move to cover her breast, and she allows it, pressing into his touch for a few seconds before she remembers her agenda. She lowers her feet to the ground carefully until she’s standing, and then she presses her hands between his now exposed thighs, making room.

 

The concrete floor of the foundry is cold even through her cardigan, but she ignores the discomfort, focusing on him instead. He is almost fully erect now, close enough that if she didn’t know him inside and out, she’d think this was it. But she does know better, and as she licks her lips, she watches it bob slightly.

 

She smiles just before she covers the head with her lips, hearing and feeling his sharp intake of breath. “Felicity,” he says like a supplication. Her tongue traces the swollen, silky skin, running circles around him, not taking him in any further. She pulls back, before sliding down again, going just barely past where she’d stopped before, her tongue flattening against the underside, undulating against his skin. He smells like the body wash they keep at the foundry, practical and muted, but she can taste his skin underneath it. 

 

She pulls back again, but instead of sliding back down, she covers him with her hand, the tip slick with her saliva, and licks the underside thoroughly, bottom to top, top to bottom. She does it again, but this time she angles her head so her tongue can wrap around the side, barely covering any area but the sensation is different and the guttural moan that escapes him makes the flames in her core flare up.

 

When she wraps her lips around the head again, she goes halfway down in one slide; his hips jump beneath her just slightly before he reigns himself in. She can taste _him_ more now, stronger. 

 

His fingers slide through the tangles of her hair, wrapping curls around the fingertips. She twirls her tongue as she pulls back, sliding it from side to side, letting her tongue flatten over the head. 

 

“You’ve got to…” he starts to say before trailing off.

 

She pulls back, hand wrapping around the base, and stares back at him through her glasses. “What do I have to do, Oliver?”

 

He blinks in confusion. “I— I don’t know,” he admits.

 

She lips her lips, already feeling them swollen. “Do you want me to stop?”

 

His head shakes no just slightly, fingers tightening around the tips of her hair.

 

“Good,” she adds before she bends down again, maintaining eye contact this time as she takes him in her mouth. He feels even heavier on her tongue now.

 

She makes it as far down as she usually can, hand still circling him, eyes still locked onto his. When she pulls back, she uses her hand to stroke upwards, caressing the head with her palm before she’s reversing her movements again until her lips are touching her fist as it wraps around the base, and he’s pressing against the back of her throat.

 

The muscles in his thigh tremble beneath her elbow, and she knows he’s still controlling his reactions. She grunts in frustration, except he thickens even more in reaction, until she pulls back.

 

“Re _lax_ ,” she commands when she pulls all the way off again. She just wants him to _react_ , to stop being so in control all the time.

 

*

 

He’s trying, he really is, even as his toes are curling under the chair, and his lungs feel like they’re running at a quarter of their normal capacity. 

 

She closes her eyes this time as she wraps her lips around him, her mouth hovering over him for what feels like an eternity; his senses can’t be trusted anymore. She makes that focused face, the one she gets when she finds a really good puzzle.

 

Her other hand slides between his legs, cradling the heavy skin there, rolling it between her fingers, and he has difficulty keeping his own eyes open. But then her glasses slide just slightly down her nose, her tongue running wide circles all over his surface area, nerve endings he didn’t even know he had are suddenly awakening.

 

Oliver Queen is no stranger to blow jobs.

 

At this point, he’s not even a stranger to _her_ being the one to perform them, but this isn’t foreplay, this isn’t her lips closing around him as they lay in bed on Sunday morning. It’s never felt like this, his body so tense he’s ready to burst, her voice so authoritative.

 

Her mouth feels like heaven around him, warm and insistent. Her hand’s grip is tight around him too, tighter than usual.

 

Her other hand pulls away, and he watches her cheeks hollow out as she pulls back, the inside of her mouth closing in on him even more. Her glasses are still hanging on her nose precariously, so he lets go of her hair to push the glasses back.

 

He can see her breasts in the gap between his knees, full and high; the rose tips and the curve of the underside make his mouth water. It holds his gaze for several moments as her mouth works around him, until he glances lower and see her free hand… not so free anymore. 

 

“Felicity,” he grunts out. She meets his eyes with an innocent look that doesn’t look very innocent with her lips wrapped around him.

 

She pulls her hands up, fingertips glistening and wraps her fingers around him; he only feels the slicker-than-slick warmth against his skin for a second before her tongue’s tracing the same path, and her mouth’s wrapped against him against until _everything_ is slick and warm.

 

Her hand slides underneath them again, and she hikes her skirt up to give him a better view, and he can see her underwear pushed to the side, her fingers dipping inside before pulling out to circle her clit.

 

He can feel himself leaking, but he holds back, hands finding her hair again. He doesn’t try to guide her movements (though he knows she likes that sometimes), he just curves his hand around the base of her skull before he feels himself truly relax, the tension of the day and their latest hunt slipping away from him.

 

His world is reduced to her mouth around him, and the sight of her fingers between her legs, her movements growing more and more furious; when she moans around him, he feels it at the base of his spine. Her mouth is more desperate around him, lips wrapped so tightly he can see her ultra-long lasting lipstick rubbing off on his skin, pink pigmentation over the thick veins.

 

His thumb finds her jaw and follows it down to her mouth, tracing her swollen lips around him. When she takes him all the way in again, it’s just a little bit further than usual, but he throbs in response, feeling the familiar tightening. “Felicity,” he manages to warn, even if some of the syllables sounded strange in the open space of the foundry.

 

“Hmm?” she hums around him in consent, and he grunts as he starts to come. Her hand around him continues to stroke him as he’s coming, her lips vacuum-tight around the head, her tongue running back and forth over him. 

 

He comes for what feels like ages, her hands and lips and tongue dragging it out until it’s almost painful.

 

She pulls back with a smirk, using the towel under him to wipe away her hands and she tilts her head at him.

 

“So you _do_ know how to relax,” she teases.

 

He groans in response because he can’t remember words very well, let alone sentences, but he does pull her up, until she’s straddling him on the office chair. He kisses her neck softly, slowly, as he gets his breathing under control.

 

“This is practical knowledge and all, but not exactly something I’ll be able to always do in the future,” she says softly but still carrying some of that authority from earlier. “If you could remember the world doesn’t come crashing down every time you lose control, it might be handy next time we face a crisis.”

 

“Noted,” he concedes, even though he knows this isn’t the last argument they’ll have on the subject. 

 

She’s slick all the way between her thighs; he can smell her (them) everywhere. “Now how about I make _you_ lose control?” 

 

He follows through on his words as he sits her on the edge of the desk and covers her with his mouth.

 

He doesn’t check the computer again; in fact, he forgets about it until its beeps wake them up four hours later, her body laying on his on top of the training mats.


	7. So Drop Your Chin and... (Oliver/Felicity/Sara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara is pregnant. Felicity is fantastic. Oliver is brooding. 
> 
> [Smoaking Canarrow (Felicity Smoak/Oliver Queen/Sara Lance)]
> 
>  
> 
> Rating: T (super brief sexual content, like blink and you miss it)

 

Felicity listens to the city’s background noise over comms, cars honking, random music blasting. It’s probably one of her favorite parts of running ops, just closing her eyes and _listening_.

 

“Is this what it’s always like?” Sara asks with a sigh of frustration before she gets up from the couch.

 

“What part of bed rest do you not understand?” Felicity questions, leading Sara back to the couch.

 

“The doctor said for one week! I haven’t had contractions in six and a half days, I think the bed rest order can be lifted,” Sara reminds her.

 

Felicity crosses her arms, because dealing with one stubbing vigilante had been hard; two stubborn vigilantes had been worse but doable. This, however, is a test of her endless patience. “Sara, we agreed you wouldn’t take chances.”

 

“I feel useless,” Sara confesses, her eyes drifting to Felicity’s monitors, and the view of the city behind them.

 

QC had purchased the Clock Tower the previous year; officially it was under renovation to become an office building. Unofficially, Felicity, Sara and Oliver had turned the upper part of the tower into a two-tiered living quarters for the three of them. The top floor had bedrooms, a personal office that Felicity and Oliver shared, bathrooms and a media room area. The bottom floor had the kitchen, living room and a back-up Ops Center in case anything happened to the foundry.

 

They had barely finished construction when they’d found out the news.

 

_(One early morning, Felicity had been woken up by Sara. “Fix this,” Sara had pleaded, voice barely raising above the sounds of the shower coming from the bathroom behind her._

 

_“Is this…?” Felicity had asked, trailing off as she reached for her glasses on the nightstand._

 

_“Yeah,” Sara had replied, handing Felicity the stick._

 

_“I can’t… I can’t troubleshoot a pregnancy test, Sara,” Felicity had tried explaining, but Sara had  crossed her arms expectantly._

 

_“But it’s digital!” Sara had pointed out, before crawling into bed and attaching herself to Felicity’s side. “It can’t be right, so I need you to figure out what’s wrong with it.”_

 

_“We knew you were late,” Felicity had pointed out._

 

_“It should be you,” Sara had explained. “If the test is right. It should be you…You’re warm and I’m… not.”_

 

_“I trip on my own feet,” Felicity had reminded her, running her hands down Sara’s back in reassurance. “We can go to the doctor soon and confirm this, but if you are… Sara, you’re gonna do just fine. No, better than fine. You’re going to be amazing, and we’ll be there the whole way.”_

 

_Sara had pouted, all dimples and frowns, but she hadn’t argued.)_

 

Little by little, Felicity had moved most of her hardware to the Clock Tower as Sara’s pregnancy had progressed. She was extremely grateful for that now, as it allowed her to stay with Sara while the others went on missions.

“Here,” she offers, handing Sara her ear wig, followed by a tablet. “And yeah, this is what it’s always like.”

 

Sara scoots when Felicity brings her laptop over, and soon they’re both settled on the couch, Felicity propping her computer on the armrest, while Sara rests her head on Felicity’s lap, eyes focused on the tablet in her hands. It’s an easy mission, recon only, so Felicity lets the white noise wash over her again, hand reaching to stroke Sara’s hair when she’s not typing.

 

“I don’t know how you do it,” Sara says with a hint of sadness.

 

“You do it by trusting the team,” Felicity explains. “You do it by knowing you’re the calm in the chaos.”

 

“A safe port?” Sara asks, chin tilted up.

 

Felicity nods, bending down as Sara lifts herself up to her elbows until their lips are pressed softly against each other, a warm shiver running down Felicity’s spine.

 

As Sara settles back down, she turns on the couch, throwing her legs up against the top of the couch, and her head hanging off the edge of the seat, parallel to Felicity. The tablet is held above her head, upside down.

 

“I don’t think that’s what the doctors meant when they said to keep your feet elevated,” Felicity points out.

 

“They’ve above my heart,” she argues, obviously enjoying the movement. Felicity’s back and neck would’ve protested the position long before, but Sara doesn’t seem to mind it. Still, the change in position only lasts a short while before Sara sighs. “I’m just afraid she’ll get hurt.”

 

“You’ve trained Sin,” Felicity reminds her. “She’ll be fine.”

 

_(The night they’d put Sin in the Black Canary costume, Roy had ended up with a bruise after laughing just a little too loud and too long; the wig looked unbelievably long, and the leather pieces all had to be custom made. So far it had worked, and no one had noticed that the Black Canary vigilante seemed to have gone through severe shrinkage.)_

 

Sara takes a deep breath. “I just worry, and then I don’t know if it’s hormones or what, but it should be me out there.”

 

_(There had been hormones before Sin had taken over. Sara had been showing up all over town as the Black Canary, usually after all the asses had been kicked; she’d been serious about being safe. Then one night Felicity had found her in the foundry, mid-breakdown._

 

_There had been no tears, but Sara had torn every inch of her leather uniform._

 

_“It doesn’t fit anymore,” was all she had said before she left a pile of leather scraps on the floor and walked out._

 

_Felicity had almost wished Sara had cried instead.)_

 

Felicity traces the bottom hem of the henley shirt Sara’s wearing, fingers brushing against the frayed edges, the sizable bump stretching the fabric noticeably. “Well, you might know I pretty much majored in worrying with a minor in nagging,” Felicity replies, swearing she hears Diggle chuckle over comms before clearing his throat. “So I understand, trust me. But our priority right now? It’s not out there… it’s in here,” she explains, rubbing her hand over the bump. Just then, the bump strikes back, a very pointy appendage striking out at her and she gasps loudly.

 

Sara’s head comes up into view again, like a really hormonal and surreal whack-a-mole, but she smiles at Felicity. 

 

“Felicity?” Oliver’s voice is full of concern over comms.

 

“We’re good,” she reassures him quickly, rubbing against the same spot again. “The baby kicked me! Hard. Kid’s probably gonna be born a ninja, and I’m gonna blame both of you,” she informs them, only half-joking.

 

“You’re still the cutest,” Sara says from her spot, wiggling her stomach until she feels another kick, right by Felicity’s hand again.

 

“Are you sure it doesn’t hurt? The books say it hurts sometimes,” Felicity asks, still in awe.

 

Sara shrugs. “It’s not a bad pain,” she explains, and Felicity remembers all of the scars on Sara’s body and she doesn’t say anything else.

 

*

 

Oliver makes his way home as soon as they call it a night, breezing through the city as quickly as he can until he’s climbing the steps to the apartment; there’s a working elevator now, but he prefers this, allows him to work off the leftover adrenaline in his body before he walks through the front door.

 

There’s an exhaustion setting deep in his bones, the struggle of constant worry for months on end, but he still feels lighter as he crosses into the living room area, finding it empty.

 

The living room is quiet and empty, monitors turned off and only the kitchen light on. He changes in the utility room; their laundry area is probably the only one in the city that’s secured by a biometric scan lock, and glass cases with mannequins. 

 

He heads to the kitchen to fill up his water bottle, and stares at the sonogram picture on the fridge. He has a copy on his phone - has copies of all of the different ultrasound appointments - but he always stares at this one, the first one. 

 

_(Oliver had never heard a more beautiful sound than his child’s heartbeat; from the very first moment he’d heard it, he’d been entranced. He had also been terrified, his hands clinging to Sara’s hand, unsure of how they’d handle this.)_

 

“Hey,” Felicity’s voice breaks his concentration; when he sees her at the bottom step of the spiral staircase, she looks as tired as she sounds. 

 

“You don’t need to wait up,” he repeats for the hundredth time it seems, but she just smiles in return.

 

“I dozed for a bit when Sar fell asleep,” she adds as he makes his way to her, adjusting her glasses.

 

When he reaches her, she comes into his arms willingly, all soft and sleep-warm. His lips find hers, the kiss familiar and sweet, and she sighs contently against him as they part. He lets her lead him up the metal steps, and into their bedroom, Sara already softly snoring as she curls around a body pillow.

 

Felicity follows him into the bathroom, jumps on the marble countertop in her t-shirt (he’s fairly sure it’s one of Sara’s), and hands him his razor as he washes his face; Sara’s skin has all sorts of new allergies now, and his scruff is not as appreciated by her as it once was. 

 

_(“Ollie, stop,” Sara had said one day, and he’d jumped back from where he’d been between her legs, feeling like he’d touched a live wire._

 

_“What is it? Is it the baby?” he had asked in concern, the mood between them completely gone._

 

_Sara had shaken her head. “No, it itches,” she had pointed to her inner thighs, skin a furious red._

 

_“Oh,” Felicity had said. “Ouch! Hold on,” she’d announced before jumping out of bed and running into the bathroom, coming out with a tube of anti-itch cream, carefully reading the fine print. “Says it’s safe,” she’d explained before squeezing a heap onto her her hands and massaging it into Sara’s skin._

 

_Oliver had found his mood back after a few minutes of watching Felicity soothe Sara, but his face hadn’t been allowed near Sara’s skin again for a long time.)_

 

The warmth of the memory doesn’t last long as he feels the exhaustion from before. 

 

“I don’t know how long I can keep doing this,” he says when he finishes shaving.

 

“It won’t be for much longer,” Felicity replies as she pats his face with a towel. 

 

He laughs despite his mood. “Not shaving; I mean, going out there,” he explains, moving between her legs as he presses barefaced kisses against her neck, testing out the smoothness. But he’s been meaning to talk to them about this for weeks, never quite finding the words, and he might as well get it over with.  “Doing what we do. How am I supposed to keep doing that? Putting us all at risk?”

 

Felicity sighs. “Some days, I really hate what we do, you know?”

 

He nods pensively.  

 

“I’ve thought about it, just stopping everything I do… everything you do.”

 

“Me too,” he admits.

 

“Hanging up your cape?” she teases.

 

“I don’t wear a cape,” he jokes back, long running gag between them.  

 

She brings his hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles reverently. “Then I think about the alternative. We’ve seen what happens to Starling City and the Glades when we aren’t there. We have to weigh the risks against the benefits. I believe our work is creating a safer future for that baby, and if I… am not around to see them, I want to at least make sure they know I tried my best - that we tried our best.”

 

It hurts her to consider the options and the outcomes and he can see it clearly on her face; he doesn’t point out that he’s not sure how he’d ever live without her or without them.  “We’ll learn to be more careful,” he concludes.

 

She nods. “Take less risks, and piss off fewer bad guys.”

 

“Be on my best behavior,” he promises, moving his hands to her waist and lifting her off the counter.

 

“Plus you do realize this kid will be able to take care of themselves sooner rather than later, right?” she points out as she wraps her legs around his hips.

 

He doesn’t reply.

 

It takes them a second to settle into bed, Sara plus her body pillow taking up prime real estate, but Oliver manages to curl up next to her, Felicity fitting perfectly under his arm and pressed against his side.

 

*

 

Oliver is awakened by a sharp kick to his ribs around four a.m. (maybe Felicity has a point).


	8. Zip Me (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt via Effie214: Leave an “Zip Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character dressing another, or the other way around [this can also be used for shutting them up as well, but feel free to specify.]

He remembers waking up as a child, clothes already set out for him on the chest by the foot of his bed. Raisa would pick the clothes out daily, but his mother was the one who purchased them; they weren’t clothes fit for playing, but six-year-old Ollie did not care. 

 

“Be careful with these, Mr. Oliver,” Raisa would say as she tied his shoes. 

 

(He always got mud on them, never seeing any reason not to.)

 

 

 

*

 

Things haven’t changed much as Felicity opens a package from Central City, Barry Allen’s annoyingly neat handwriting on the label, a smile on her face.

 

He pats his sweaty body down with a towel, watches as she lays out the dark green leather pants and new custom made jacket; both pieces have slots for his arrows and the collar of the jacket is unfinished, ready for the tattered hood to be sewn into it.

 

He’s not sure when he became part of this vigilante/superhero brigade he never volunteered for, but the kid is nice and his current leathers have been patched up so many times he’s starting to feel like he’s wearing a quilt.

 

“Thank him for me,” is all Oliver says, putting his hand on Felicity’s shoulder and brushing his lips against her temple, before he heads to take a shower.

 

When he comes out, the pants are waiting for him, along with a hand scribbled note: Barry says these help with ‘chaffing’? He shrugs as he puts them on, and walks out to find Felicity wrapping up her phone conversation with Barry, her hands carefully stitching the hood onto the new jacket; her teeth digging into her lips, threading perfectly spaced hand stitches. 

 

The entire team can patch things up, whether it’s wounds or clothes, but Felicity is the only one who does it methodically, carefully fixing everything she touches.

 

“There,” she says when she’s done, running her fingertips over the soft leather. “Come here.”

 

He does, perching on the lab stool by one of the metal tables, and she holds the jacket up expectantly; he takes his time putting his arms through the sleeves, enjoying her eagerness and the way she gets exasperated at his slowness.

 

She tugs the hood up carefully when he’s done, almost reverently, and her face lights up at the finished work.

 

“Barry said it’s from the same guy who made his,” Felicity explains. “Something about reinforced leather and bullet resistant lining, some new project he’s working on in his lab. Lighter than kevlar, and I thought hey who wouldn’t like less bullet wounds, right?” She babbles, running her hands over his chest. “Please don’t be too eager to try that out though, I don’t want to have to update the Days Since Last Injury board.”

 

(The board is an actual thing now, with Felicity offering up rewards for the longest stretch they went without someone needing morphine or stitches.)

 

“This is great,” he says as he slides down from the stool and tests out his range of motion. It fits him like a glove, flexible and light, but he can feel the difference in the new material. “How does it look?”

 

The question is possibly unnecessary, judging by the way Felicity stands there, staring (there’s a distinct possibility she’s staring at his ass, but also maybe not just his ass).

 

His hands wrap against her waist, pushing her against the nearest surface, intent on finding out just how chafe-resistant these pants are. Her lips hungrily accept his, and it gets almost unbearably warm in his hood as their breaths mingle; one would think he’d be used to this by this point, but his knees buckle still, his body pressing further into hers against the concrete column.

 

The door slamming shut at the top of the stairs makes them jump apart, and this part they are both used to doing at this point, even if it’s pointless as Diggle is already shaking his head while Roy snickers behind him.

 

“Cool costume,” Roy teases, taking in the new clothes.

 

Oliver glares because Roy knows just how much he hates that term.

 

“Don’t worry, Roy; Barry says yours is next,” Felicity promises, an underlying threat in her tone. 

 

Roy shuts up, slipping his hoodie on and zipping it up.

 

“My friend at the bank just called,” Diggle explains. “Time to move.”

 

Oliver slides arrows into the built-in loops on the legs and sleeves, taking his bow as Felicity holds it out.

 

“Watch the suit,” Felicity warns, before he kisses her goodbye. Smiling dazedly when he pulls back, she adds: “And the rest of you as well, I guess.”

 

(Maybe things have changed, because he’s a lot more careful now. It takes six missions before he gets blood on the new costume.)


	9. Oliver and Computers (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt by ohmypreciousgirl based on my tags - Oliver is actually somewhat decent with computers (see: early s1), but he fakes being dumb so Felicity can impress him with her skillz. Yes, with a z.

"So what do I do again?" Oliver asks, resting his elbow against the back of her chair.

"The program is already written. If they go through with the virtual dead drop, it will also extrapolate the data from the mainframe and redirect it to our servers, which will decrypt the information, then re-encrypt a bogus version of the file and send it to the original destination. They get nada, nil, zero valuable information, but it will still contain a trojan so we can still trace it. And all you do is type the code that shows up on the screen into the other system," she explains.

Oliver's fingers squeeze the chair with every word, his teeth biting into the inside of his lip to keep from reaching out and touching her. "Can't you do that thing where you do that from your phone?"

"Well, normally I could, yes, but this needs to happen as quickly as possible. While my program allows for automation, their system doesn't."

Oliver tilts his head, feeling like a farce (he is), and frowns in fake confusion.

"Think about those CAPTCHAs on websites that make you prove you're human? It's kind of like that," she adds, obviously trying to dumb it down for his benefit. "It's a one-time code, and I can't access the system remotely to use it."

He watches as she taps a few more keys, lines of code flashing across the screen faster than he can see; sure, he's not a  _genius_  or anything, and he could never do what she does, but he knows just enough to know she's absolutely brilliant.

"I... I could stay if you're not comfortable with this, I tried to make this idiot-proof-- oh god," she covers her mouth with both her hands. "I don't mean you're an idiot. Really, I can stay."

Oliver's tempted to say yes - although he's not sure tempted is the right word when his entire body seems to be on edge, and he can smell her shampoo from where he's standing. "I--" he gets cut off by the sound of a door slamming at the top of the stairs. He glances up to see Sara in dark red leather pants, and a sleeveless black top with one of those drooping necks that Thea always went on and on about when he wasn't really paying attention.

"You ready?" she asks Felicity.

"I think maybe I should stay," Felicity explains with a sigh, glancing at her monitors.

"No, you're not staying," Sara argues. "Come on, Ollie can do this. He's really good at this stuff."

Oliver unintentionally growls at her.

"What stuff?" Felicity asks, nose wrinkling.

"Computer stuff. Didn't he tell you his first major at his first Ivy League school was in telecommunications? I mean, he liked radios and transistors, but he could also find his way around a--"

"You guys should get going! I know what to do, and I'll call if I run into trouble." He smiles at Felicity, who is staring at the two of them with major confusion. 

Sara rolls her eyes. "Or you could just stay out of trouble," she teases, and with a more serious tone, she adds: "Don't call."

"If you're sure," Felicity says as she walks past them, and he holds her coat up for her, feeling the smell of her shampoo ever stronger now as she slides her arms into the sleeves.

"I'm sure," he reassures her. "Maybe you could show me some more tomorrow? You know, the really basic stuff. Start out small."

Felicity nods with a pleased smile. "It's a date. Not a date date, just you know, a date. Like on a calendar."

"Come on, you're making us late for  _our_  not a date date." Sara laughs and stands on her toes to kiss Oliver on the cheek.

Felicity just squeezes his forearm as she follows Sara.

Oliver takes his spot at the computers, eyes drifting over the code, pants feeling even tighter; only downside to this game he's playing is that he's starting to get an unhealthy pavlovian response to  _if_ and  _then_  statements on any screen.


	10. Fake Orgasms (Sara/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like 80% jaegermighty's fault and 20% frea_o. Or possibly the other way around. (See: http://andymcnope.tumblr.com/post/79331318421 )

"You can’t be serious?" Sara asks over wine bc that is the drink that fuels random femslash sex (that or tequila. vodka is acceptable)

Felicity shrugs, feeling self-confident. “I am.”

"Never?!" Sara repeats, hands going slack from the shock and almost spilling her wine.

"Well, one time I thought I was going to, but… I just sneezed. It was allergy season," Felicity explains, nose crinkling at the memory. "I mean, I can do it by myself all the time, you know— not  _all the time_ , like a reasonable number of times, it’s not like I need to seek help for it of anything. But with other people? Nope.”

"Wow," Sara adds, feeling mesmerized by the way Felicity’s glasses slid just slightly from the nose crinkle. "And you just… pretend?"

Felicity nods. “I watched  _When Harry Met Sally_  all the time when I was younger, and there was this one guy I dated in college who just would not finish unless, you know… so after two hours, I just channeled Meg Ryan, and it finally ended. Which was great, because I had a final the next day and totally had to study anyway.”

Sara laughs. “You’re just— too cute. I’m sorry,” she says, unable to hold it in any longer. 

Felicity snorts. “Sure, you say that because you don’t have to deal with me having that  _problem._ ”

Sara gulps, setting her wine glass down. “Maybe… I want to deal with it,” she whispers before she leans into Felicity. 


	11. How They Met (Sara/Felicity/Oliver)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from insomniabug - felicity/sara/ollie (804):Yeah, first date. First take a pic of him to circulate around for your friends and than have him fill out a short penis questionnaire. Seems completely legit to me.

“Tell me how you guys met,” Felicity demands one evening as they’re winding down. She often gets demanding afterwards, holding her head up as she waits to be kissed, or clutching onto one of them as her heart rate evens out.

Sara meets Oliver’s eyes in a knowing gaze, and he shrugs. “School. Though we didn’t really talk until… what, my junior year?”

“Actually, no,” Sara corrects him with a smirk; she’s on her stomach, and rests her chin on Felicity’s hipbone, ignoring the slight ticklish response before Felicity’s fingers weave themselves into her hair. “I’d seen you before, on some stupid teen magazine that had an article on rich kids, complete with a full page spread.”

Oliver groans and hides his face in Felicity’s neck. “I’m enjoying this,” Felicity says, happy to not be the one dying from embarrassment for once. “So tell me more about this picture spread.”

“Imagine a fourteen-year-old Oliver Queen. Almost Bieber-style hair—”

“Technically I wore it first,” Oliver pipes up. Felicity covers his mouth with her hand, her hands tasting like  _them_.

“… anyway, blonde, blue-eyed wonder kid. And he was local, so all the girls went nuts over him. Some of the boys too,” Sara teases.

Oliver shrugs, having been more embarrassed about the article and pictures than their reception by the local society kids.

“Laurel had a picture taped to her locker,” Sara adds with an eye roll. “It somehow disappeared one day.”

Felicity squints. “And you have no idea what happened to it?” 

Sara turns her head and bites Felicity’s hip softly. “Should I get a lawyer?”

“Yes, let’s call Laurel,” Oliver offers before both women smack him with pillows. Felicity’s bed has a crazy amount of decorative pillows, which can come in handy sometimes, but mostly are a bitch to put back on the bed once they invariably end on the floor.

“So you and all of your friends had a crush on teenage Oliver Queen?” Felicity asks, settling down again, on her back (Sara’s head is on her stomach, and Oliver is pressed against her other side).

“The dating pool in Starling City has never been that stellar,” Sara teases defensively. “Of course, it got worse a couple of years later when  _stories_  started to coming from some of the older girls.”

Oliver groans, hiding his face behind a decorative pillow.

“It got to the point where the girls started filling out surveys for comparison, you know… after,” Sara grins, reaching out across Felicity’s middle to poke him in the ribs. 

“Tell me more,” Felicity demands, eyes starting to drift closed every few seconds.

“Bossy,” Sara comments but moves up the bed, resting her head on the fluffy feather pillow, Felicity’s hair tickling her nose. “After that it’s like Ollie said; some stupid party at some kid’s house his junior year, playing truth or dare. I dared him to do a backflip off the roof, he broke his ankle,” she adds. “Laurel panicked, drove him to the ER with Tommy, wouldn’t leave his side.”

“Oh,” Felicity adds, like that was the missing part of the puzzle, the question never asked.

“I don’t remember much on the account of the alcohol and then the painkillers at the hospital,” Oliver explains. “But I remember some,” he smiles at Sara. “You had that faded hoodie on with those bright blue shorts with the frayed ends.”

Sara’s face breaks into an unusual smile, all dimples and freckles, surprised into silence.

“You have nice legs,” Felicity mumbles, half asleep.

Oliver closes the distance, reaching across Felicity’s form to kiss Sara softly on the lips. When he pulls away, he pulls Felicity against him, curving around her back. 

“I never did fill out those surveys in high school,” Sara adds when she settles on her side, facing Felicity. “But if I filled one out now, you’d probably get a really decent review. Even if you’re too much of a cuddler. Cuddly Ollie Queen, the article certainly didn’t mention that.”

“Shut up,” he bites out, laughing against Felicity’s shoulder. 

Felicity’s hand wraps around Sara’s waist blindly, soft snores soon following. 

Sleep comes easily to Sara, much easier than it did months before  _this_  started, and she dreams of that party in high school, Ollie’s stupid preppy clothes and the way her stomach flipped crazily as he brushed past her on the way to the roof.


	12. Loud Voice Leads to Loud Sex (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> phenioxgirl prompted: TFLN: Maybe we should try and tone it down a notch. The neighbors changed the name of their wifi network to "i can hear you having sex". :-D

Oliver slides into Felicity’s bedroom window still in his leathers, expecting to find her already asleep. The bed is empty, however, so he changes into sweats and a t-shirt before making his way to the living room, finding her deep in concentration on the living room floor, back against the couch.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he offers when she doesn’t even look up.

“You can afford a lot more than that,” she reminds him, biting her lip as her eyes refuse to leave the laptop screen.

He flips onto the couch, stretching across all three seats, feeling the weariness and alertness of the patrol finally leaving his body.

The living room smells like pumpkin spice, some huge candle she always lights during the fall months. During the summer it was some sea breeze scent that should’ve probably reminded him of the island, but instead just made him long to take her on a vacation.

She’s wearing gray cotton shorts that are barely there and bright yellow super fuzzy socks, legs bent so she can prop her laptop on her knees. The skin around her kneecaps is turning red from the heat. 

Her tank top strap slides down as she’s typing, and he reaches over to fix it, but ends up cupping her bare shoulder instead. The adrenaline from the patrol is quickly being redirected into something  _else._

Her hair is gathered into a ponytail, nothing like the neat ones she wears to work and sometimes to the foundry, but a haphazard mess of curls post-shower, a reminder that they don’t have to stop by the offices the next morning.

He leans over, curling around her shoulder, and presses kisses against her shoulders and the nape of her neck.

“Oh no, you won’t,” she stops him. “It’s all your fault.”

He stops, suddenly very very confused. “What did I do?”

“The neighbors changed their WiFi name to  _I Can Hear You Having Sex_ ,” she says, pointing to the screen. “I’m trying to fix it.”

“People do this stuff all the time as a joke,” he points out. “There’s no way it’s about us.”

“It’s a dual-band router and the 5GHz connection lists my apartment number,” she explains.

“I don’t know what that means,” Oliver reminds her.

“It means you need to stop with the ‘let me hear you, Felicity’ and the…” she trails off, pointing to the kitchen counter. He remembers the night two weeks before, how they found out the height was  _perfect_  (his knees had imprints from her kitchen floor tile for hours after).

He reaches over and closes the laptop, ignoring her outraged gasp as she twists to face him. “Hear me out, Felicity,” he says, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Poor choice of words, but I mean it. If you change it, don’t you think your neighbors will be a little curious about how someone hacked their router?”

She pouts before sighing. 

“Plus it is a lot better than if they’d named it  _Why Is the Vigilante Entering Your Apartment Through Your Bedroom Window_ , wouldn’t you say?”

“Technically that would be too long anyway, since most network SSIDs should be a maximum of thirty-two characters,” she points out, conceding the point anyway and sliding up the couch and onto his lap. “What took you so long?”

“Roy,” he offers and it’s enough of an answer. “Come on,” he adds, standing up with her, leading her into the bedroom.

He places her gently on the bed before he heads to the window and opens it, the early October chill making its way into the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks as she pulls off her tank top and fuzzy socks.

“Keeping the neighbors up,” he explains with a wink, moving to cover her on the bed.

“Did you know that for a hero, you can be pretty vengeful at times?” She rolls her eyes but wraps her arms around him anyway. “Plus I was thinking stealing one of Sara’s sonic devices might be slightly more useful.”

“But not nearly as fun,” he points out as he makes his way down her body.

*

Felicity loses her voice for three days after that. 

Oliver brings her hot ginger and lemon tea every morning.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tomatocages/kittu9 prompted: "help me," Oliver and Felicity go grocery shopping.

**One.**

It is actually embarrassing to admit it, but Oliver Queen has never gone grocery shopping before.

“You buy, I’ll fly,” his roommates at all of his colleges would say. Oliver was more than glad to drop trust fund money on the kitchen counter; the fridge was kept stocked, toiletries never ran out. 

“Please, Ollie,” is all Thea says now, in the present, a coughing fit following her words.

“NyQuil, cough drops, apple juice, what else?” he asks, leading her to the couch in the office at the Verdant. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home? Raisa has all this stuff already.”

Thea sneezes so hard, she looks dazed for a second. “Um, I’m fine, I just need to finish payroll. Oh, there’s this tea too, I’ll text you the name, but it helps a ton.”

“Thea…” he starts to say, but she just motions towards the laptop on the desk, and he hands it to her. As much as he hates to see her sick (always had, even when they were little), he can’t deny the pride he feels watching her work despite her illness.

“Don’t go to the pharmacy by the tracks, they don’t have the tea, make sure you go to the marketplace by the hardware store,” she says before he leaves.

**Two.**

The second time Oliver Queen goes grocery shopping, is after he moves out on his own. 

“You need a toaster,” Sara says, tossing a toaster box into his cart. 

“I don’t eat toast,” he points out.

“But I like my bagels toasted,” is her matter-of-fact reply, tossing a pack of bagels into the cart as well.

(She laughed when he suggested that she should move in, said she had her own thing going. Apparently her own thing also involves eating breakfast foods at his place, which he’s totally okay with, actually.)

**Three.**

He goes grocery shopping as needed for his own place, learning which stores carry the best stuff. 

He tries a farmer’s market store by Big Belly, recognizing the name from a reusable bag Felicity carries sometimes. He goes there often, even after things end with Sara. 

It’s one of the few things in life that bridge his worlds and everyone else’s world, and he enjoys the break. 

**Four.**

Oliver is walking into the store one Sunday morning when he hears a gasp.

“I have a phone, you know?” Felicity says, clutching her chest.

Confusion crosses his face before he realizes she thinks he tracked her down. “No, I didn’t—“ he pauses as he notices the people around them. “I… need eggs,” he adds awkwardly. 

She scrunches her face at him. “Is that code?” she asks in a whisper.

“Yes,” he replies, placing his hand on her lower back and guiding them away from the store entrance and towards the first aisle. “It’s code for I need two dozen eggs, and I also need milk. I shop here,” he explains.

“Ah,” she nods in understanding. “I thought we were going to need to discuss your excuses again.”

He shakes his head, not realizing he’s following her until her cart is half full (or is it half empty?) and his basket is filled with eggs, a half-gallon of milk, and four avocados. He notices how she always looks at the price stickers, second guessing herself more often than not, carefully reading the boxes ( _packaged in a facility that handles nuts_ ); her approach is methodical, just like everything she does.

“Hey, would you mind?” she asks, pointing above them to the six-pack of environment-friendly paper towels on the top shelf.

He towers over her easily, grabbing the plastic ending and pulling it down for her.

“My hero,” she adds with a hint of sarcasm, but she stands on tip toes and presses a kiss to his cheek anyway.

**Five.**

“This sounds like too much,” he says as he tosses another pack of size 1 diapers into the cart.

“The book says two packs of size 0 and two packs of size 1 since we don’t know how big she’ll be yet,” Felicity says as she thumbs through the digital pages on her tablet as it’s wedged between the top of her rounded stomach and her breasts.

“It still sounds like a lot,” he points out as he tosses two more packs in.

“Better than running out and using one of your shirts,” she reminds him.

“As you wish,” he whispers before he pulls her in for a kiss, chaste but promising. When he pulls back, she’s wearing her happy face, the one he associated with Diggle’s aspirins but now knows it extends to foot rubs and pillow talk.

“Come on, we gotta find the hardware aisle so we can finish childproofing the—” she cuts off, but he knows what she means, and pushes the cart to the proper aisle.

(There’s really no sense in telling her the baby probably won’t be crawling around the foundry floor for several more months.)


	14. Zip Me (Oliver/Sara/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> insomniabug prompted: ZIP ME, SMOAKING CANARROW

Oliver had been kicked out of the master bedroom ninety minutes before as Felicity and Sara worked on their ‘dress rehearsal.’ 

He didn’t mind it, especially since he had work to do and the home office was quiet (although the occasional muffled laughter and yelp still managed to make its way to him through the quiet house).

His eyes are nearly closing after looking at so many figure reports and contract revisions when someone pushes the half closed door open. 

“Come in, Felici—  _Sara_?” He blinks twice, before letting his eyes follow her form, bottom to top. He sees familiar knee-length brown leather boots (one of Felicity’s favorite pairs), followed by a few inches of skin before a cream colored round silk skirt. His eyes continue to follow her figure appreciatively, noticing the black cashmere cardigan, and Sara’s hair in a neat and sleek ponytail, the ends straightened, and long golden rectangular earrings hanging past her jawline. But the  _pièce de résistance_  actually sits on the bridge of her nose, rectangular frames and Sara’s eyes behind them, sparkling with amusement.

“I’d say we’re ready for tomorrow,” she says, obviously enjoying his reaction. She moves to the edge of the wooden desk, leaning against it with her hip. A careful boot comes up to the edge of his chair, between his thighs. He’s wearing briefs and a t-shirt, his usual attire before bed, and the leather of the boots brushes his skin; he moves his hand lightning fast, wrapping it around Sara’s ankle.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” he points out, remembering the plan; after three months tracking down an international crime ring after several of the country’s corporate executives started being kidnapped, it had taken two weeks to bait them. Sara would switch places with Felicity so she would be kidnapped alongside Oliver, which was a better plan to both of them than putting Felicity in direct danger, but it was still a long shot.

“You’re outvoted,” Sara reminds him, jerking her foot in his hand unexpectedly until he’s gasping in surprise. 

She smirks a smirk that is 100% Sara and 0% Felicity, but his brain is still short circuiting. He tugs on the foot, using more force than necessary until she’s sitting on his lap, the silk skirt bunched around her waist and just a couple layers of fabric separating them. 

“If I’d known you’d be so into this…” she trails off, tilting her hips up and pressing against the length of him viciously. “Who are we kidding, of course you’d be into this,” she adds, raising her hand to adjust her glasses. 

His own hands move up her thighs until he’s cradling her ass in his hands, the silky fabric of the skirt brushing against his knuckles. He moves one hand down, fingers expertly pulling her underwear to the side, and then he’s brushing the pads of his fingers against her entrance, finding her already ready to go. He wonders what they were doing in the bedroom before, his mind filling with wonderful images of the two of them.

Sara moves backwards, her hands moving between them and just pushing his briefs down enough to release him, and then she’s moving forward and sliding down his length. His fingers grip the back of her thighs in desperation, feeling far too close to the edge for comfort, but he weathers the urge after a couple of minutes.

“Are you going to be thinking about this at the office tomorrow?” She taunts him. “While I bring you coffee and a stack of papers?”

“You  _cannot_  bring him coffee,” Felicity’s voice surprises him. “You have to promise, Sar.” She sets her tablet down on his desk, a video feed of his face staring back at him. “The glasses,” she explains. “They’re the ones I made last year. I couldn’t give her my real ones.”

“Come here?” Sara asks, resuming her movements on top of him as her hands reach for the other woman.

Felicity comes, wearing an oversized t-shirt, faded print and uneven hem that goes down to her mid thigh. Her hair is in a messy bun, the ones she wears sometimes after a shower. “Should I take this as approval that you’re on board with the plan?” She asks him, as she bends down to press her lips against his.

He doesn’t reply, but he returns the kiss, biting her lower lip and tugging on it.

Sara’s head falls back as she comes around him, her hands frantically tugging on Felicity’s t-shirt as she does. “We’re here,” Felicity whispers, moving to press against Sara’s back, shushing her through the silent sobs of her release, a calming hand on Sara’s neck. 

(Felicity is sugary-spice when it comes to sex, equal parts eager playfulness and loving sweetness, steady throughout. Sara is all edge, only melting after an orgasm, usually tugging them around until she can wrap one or both of them around her, or herself around them.)

Oliver stays still until Sara’s breathing evens out, but before he can move, she’s moving off of him, turning around and lifting Felicity onto his desk. The oversized t-shirt gets discarded, Sara’s lips closing around Felicity’s nipple as soon as it comes into view, the ponytail and sleek hair taunting him.

“Hey, why am I the only one naked?” Felicity protests, her hand curling around Sara’s neck, guiding Sara’s movements. “Nevermind, not complaining, oh god I’m really not complaining,” she gets out as he watches Sara’s hand find its way between Felicity’s legs.

When Sara bends down in front of him, her lips pressing against Felicity’s inner thighs, he sees the tablet on the desk, the video feed providing him with an unusual close-up view of it. He holds his breath until Sara’s spreading Felicity open, her tongue running against the slick skin, Felicity’s breath doing that hitchy thing that means someone’s found the right spot.

He can’t bear it much longer, and stands up behind Sara, shedding his briefs; the skirt has fallen down again so he moves it out of the way, pushing into Sara as soon as he possibly can, not missing the way she moans into Felicity, or the way Felicity’s eyes find his, begging.

(it really doesn’t matter what she’s begging for, he’s pretty sure he’d be willing to give it to her.)

He keeps his movements slow and deliberate, desperate for his release but he doesn’t want to throw Sara’s rhythm off. Felicity comes after a couple of minutes, a dazed smile on her face.

He pushes the cardigan up until he can see the scars, lets them ground him and bring him home. Felicity notices it, and tugs the hair tie from Sara’s hair, letting it cascade down. Her hands grasp the hair, bunching it, messing it up.

His hand moves across Sara’s hip, finding her clit and rubbing it in circles at first until she’s clenching around him.

The three of them collapse into a heap not long after, Felicity barely able to warn him to be careful about her silk skirt, Sara moving up until she’s squeezed between them again.


	15. Quiet Me (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> frea_o prompted: Quiet Me

 

Oliver Queen has woken up in many hospitals.

Once, not too long ago, he woke up to pastel walls and a fresh new scar, and Felicity’s hands clutching his; she hadn’t gone home in forty-four hours, Diggle had told him later.

Oliver had been discharged the following day, and he’d personally made sure Felicity made it to her apartment. She’d pulled him in with her, mouths practically fused; they’d collapsed on her couch, both still fully clothed and past the point of exhaustion to do anything more than hold each other until they fell asleep.

(She hadn’t said much to him that time, hadn’t really spoken until two days later when they’d chanced a shower together, her fingers carefully putting the waterproof bandage on his wounds before they stepped into her small bathtub, barely any room to maneuver.)

This time it’s different, when he wakes up to the smell of industrial strength disinfectant and flowers, she’s pacing furiously, her nail polish cracked on the edges from her worrying it with her teeth, no doubt.

Now that he’s conscious, memories start flooding him; the motorcycle chase, Felicity’s screams over comms, Roy dragging him away from the wreck before the explosion.

“Roy,” he says, his throat so dry he starts to cough. 

Felicity pours some ice chips into a cup, hands it to him. “Kid’s fine, but you were four seconds away from being…  _not here_ ,” she replies, her eyes refusing to meet his at the last words.

“Thank you,” he adds when he’s done sucking on the ice chip, notices the cast on his leg.

On the plus side, he can still feel his legs, so maybe it’s not as bad as he expected.

“Don’t,” she grinds out, standing up and resuming her pacing. 

“Feli—” he starts but she’s back at his side, interrupting.

“No, you do not get to Felicity me. Not right now.” Her tone is serious, and he notices the dried tears on her skin, the puffiness of her eyes. “You don’t get to apologize yet. Do you realize what would’ve happened if you hadn’t been wearing a helmet? Do you realize every night you go out there and I am  _stuck_  in that foundry, wondering if that’s the night I’m going to go home alone? We shouldn’t… maybe, maybe this is a mistake.” Fresh tears are falling down her face, and she steps away from him, moving to stand as far away from him as she can in the opulent hospital room, her back to him.

He can’t think of anything to say that won’t make it worse, but he watches as her back shakes in silent sobs.

He throws the blankets off silently, picking up the saline bag in his hand and hanging it on the portable holder (he learned his lesson about pulling the IV out on his own, and dealing with an upset nurse right now would be the wrong move). He tests putting some weight on his leg, the fracture appears to have been on his shin and sharp pain hits him before he can make his way to her.

“Oliver!” She’s turning, realizing what he was trying to do, and she runs back to him, pushing him back towards the bed; her hands are gentle even as her eyes reproach him in every possible way. “I swear, Oliver,” she huffs under her breath, bloodshot eyes making him feel like the biggest jerk on the planet.

He sits on the edge of the hospital bed but doesn’t move, his hands clinging to her until he realizes this isn’t about him feeling better. He opens his mouth, the words  _I need you_  sticking in his throat.

(It’s the island all over again, and the fights and conversations with Thea and Laurel and Tommy. 

He’d died and he’d come back to life, but they’d been the ones left to pick up the pieces and they’d each made sure he knew what that had felt like.)

He takes a deep breath and says the only thing he can think of at the moment: “I love you.”

Felicity balls her fists at her side, jaw clenching and for one second he thinks she’s about to punch him, the way Sara’s taught her how. “Take it back,” she demands but she doesn’t move from him.

“You are right about everything,” he amends.

(Maybe he should’ve started with that, he realizes. Would’ve been a better plan,  _possibly_.)

“You are right, and you deserve more than an apology from this hospital bed. And you deserve more than empty promises about how this won’t happen again.” He drops his head against her collarbone; her hairs is down and he can smell her shampoo, the only thing stronger than the hospital room odors.

She places her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back a few inches. Her lipstick almost entirely gone, her lips quivering with emotion. “I should go,” she contends.

“Felicity,” he begs, reaching out to touch her arm. “I… love… you,” he says with a pause between each word. “I’m not saying that so you will stay. I’m saying it because as Roy was pulling me from that, it was the only thing I could think of, and I couldn’t understand why I hadn’t said it before.”

She sucks in a shuddering breath, and bites her lips as she glances at him. “This is pretty cliché, don’t you think?” 

“I’m okay with that,” he offers, pulling her hands to his lips, brushing his lips against her knuckles. “And once I get out of here, I’ll promise I’ll show you just how sorry I am. Because I am. And you can ramble about how stupid and careless I am, because you are right, and I do need the reminder.”

(Possibly a daily reminder for the rest of his life, but he’s already taken a chance, he’s not about to push his luck that far.)

(Hospital proposals are an even bigger cliché, after all, and one wreck per week is all he can handle, really. Even if he has an antique ring in a velvet box, somewhere in his father’s old writing desk in his room, the one he never sleeps in anymore.)

She kisses him now; both their lips are chapped, and he couldn’t care less at this point, tugging on her sleeves until he can feel her body heat through the hospital gown. His leg protests, but he ignores the pain, focusing on feeling her drying tears on his skin and the way her glasses are pressing gently against his face.

“I’m still angry,” she informs him when they pull apart. “I don’t want you to think you’re off the hook entirely. But I do love you.”

He smiles as he wraps his arms around her middle, maneuvering the IV tubes around her belt. “As long as you’re still here,” he whispers against her collarbone.

*

The next time he wakes up, hours later, she’s on the hospital bed with him, curled into his side and snoring softly.

(He thinks about the velvet box again.)


	16. VMars AU (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> itsalwaysfour prompted: Oliver/Felicity's first kiss a la Logan/Veronica's first kiss.

She’s fuming, her world turning red as the truth about her father - about her family, about  _her_ \- comes to light in the dingy motel room where the ARGUS informant was holed up. 

She can’t deal with this right now. 

Her feet carry her outside, hoping to escape into the darkness of the night, to be somewhere she can’t be seen. 

She sees him waiting by the stairs, the street lamp closest to them mysteriously out all of a sudden (courtesy of an arrow, she’s sure). 

The hood is up, but there’s a softness to his jawline that makes it clear it’s Oliver waiting, not the vigilante. She tries to walk past him but he asks her, “You okay?”

She stops, tries to nod affirmatively but she can’t—

She doesn’t want to deal with any of it, so she does the only thing she can think of that doesn’t relate to any of it and she presses her lips against his.

It’s a soft kiss, chaste even, a distraction and a cop-out answer if she’s honest with herself. But she has to admit it’s something she’s thought of before, even if it never happened like this.

She pulls back before she can make a bigger fool of herself, and turns to head down the stairs and into her car, but before she can get past the first step, she’s being spun around and pulled flush against his body.

The first thing she notices is that her breasts are pressing into the very solid muscles of his chest, and the second thing she notices (the important thing) is that his mouth is covering hers in a way that’s decidedly not chaste.

His tongue strokes against hers; the flames inside her are fanned, the frustration and anger from earlier turning into something else entirely.

She wraps her hands around his neck, careful not to move his hood, and the firm hand on her lower back presses harder; she angles her hips at his, gasping into his mouth at the contact. He swallows her gasps and moans, not pulling her even closer until her feet are almost entirely off the ground and all of her weight is supported by him.

When they break apart, she’s breathing heavily against him, and reality returns to her like a punch to the gut.

She blinks at him, words stuck in her throat but she can’t get them out.

She doesn’t look at him again until she’s opening her car door, just the shadow of him against the building.


	17. Do Not Disturb (Sara/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompted: Do Not Disturb, Sara/Felicity

The bass of the music vibrates against the molecules in Felicity’s body, the crowd closing around her as she watches Sara tending bar. The smells of after-shave, perfume and sweat are almost offensive to Felicity’s senses, but she pushes through it until she’s at the counter.

Felicity feels slightly out of place; her work attire does okay in the crowd, but her hair is still up in its rigid ponytail and it doesn’t exactly help her blend in. Her heels catch on the metal footrest rail as she leans over and tugs on Sara’s sleeve.

“Can I get one of those fruity drinks?” Felicity tries to shout over the music. Her question is twofold, for one she really wants a drink, but also it lets Sara know this is a social visit.

Sara just quirks her lips and shakes her head. Felicity watches as she pours from four different bottles into two shot glasses, slamming one on the counter in front of Felicity and keeping one.

Felicity shrugs, but Sara does make yummy drinks and knows her taste well, so she slams it down. It’s not fruity, but it’s sweet and tastes like iced coffee, and Felicity hums in approval.

Sara drinks hers, eyes on Felicity the whole time, and Felicity tries not to think about the other times Sara is really fond of maintaining eye contact while her mouth works on something else.

(It doesn’t really work.)

When the shot is gone, Sara finds one of the other servers and whispers something to them; she motions towards the back with her head, and Felicity follows, her heartbeat pumping so fast and loud, she can’t hear the music anymore.

Felicity had memorized Verdant’s floor plans (both the official version filed with the city offices and the unofficial version she used to redo the foundry post-earthquake), but she didn’t really know all the rooms and spaces until Sara came along.

There’s a second set of restrooms under the stairs that lead to the manager’s office, where the factory workers used to change into their uniforms; they’re farther from the bar and the dance floor, so usually emptier, not to mention less opulent than the main restrooms.

Sara locates a Closed for Cleaning sign from behind the door and hangs it on the outside, slamming the door and locking it.

“I shouldn’t have pulled you from your job,” Felicity apologizes. Sara pushes Felicity against the concrete wall, lips clashing.

“It was… time for… my break,” Sara says, nibbling on Felicity’s lips with each pause.

“Oh… good,” Felicity concludes, reaching under Sara’s tank top and moving up. “I was just, you know… there’s nothing Arrow-y going on, and the guys were training, and it seemed like a good idea.”

“Fantastic idea,” Sara comments as Felicity’s fingers squeeze her nipples through the mesh bra she’s wearing.

Felicity gulps as she feels Sara’s hand on the hem of her dress; knuckles brush against her inner thigh, moving up and up until Sara’s thumb is running against her covered slit, the drag of the cotton both muting and multiplying the sensations.

“Oh god,” Felicity moans as Sara’s fingers move her underwear outside, spreading the slick warmth around and around and around.

(She hadn’t had this in mind, exactly, as she’d walked up those steps. But at the same time, maybe she had hoped for the general gist of it.)

“I need—” Felicity begs, her words cut off as Sara slides two long fingers inside her.

“What do you need, hon?” Sara asks, free hand tugging on Felicity’s ponytail until they’re making eye contact, matching sets of blown pupils.

“I… I don’t know,” Felicity admits, angling her hips off the concrete wall. “Don’t stop, please. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” Sara promises, burying her face in the crook of Felicity’s neck until all Felicity can smell is Sara - coconut conditioner, booze and leather - and the sharp smell of arousal in the room.

The orgasm builds up and up and up, until every cell of her skin is so sensitive she can feel the cold air around them; she clenches on nothingness every time Sara’s fingers pull away, so she moves her hand to hold Sara’s wrist in place. The firm thumb is back on her clit, steady pressure and no movement.

“Do it,” Sara says, knowing what she needs, so Felicity works herself against Sara’s thumb, hips moving fretfully until she trips over the edge, squeezing around Sara’s other fingers so hard that she’d be afraid of hurting someone else.

(It’s Sara, though.)

Felicity’s head slams back against the concrete wall as she comes down, the sharp pain dragging her back to reality. “Ow,” she complains as she lets her head fall forward onto Sara’s shoulder, feeling Sara carefully withdraw her hand from between her trembling legs.

Sara soothes her by rubbing against the spot on the back of her head, and Felicity knows her hair is going to be a mess.

“Not sure how I’d explain a concussion to the guys downstairs,” she jokes after the pain fade somewhat.

“I’m sure Ollie got the message when he saw the sign on the door outside,” Sara points out.

Felicity frowns, because he woulnd’t— actually, yeah, he totally would. “Oliver?” she calls out.

“Are you guys okay?” is the answer she gets, muffled by the door and the loud music outside.

“Peachy,” Sara bites back, laughing into Felicity’s hair. “Come on, let’s go,” she adds, pulling away.

“What about you?” Felicity asks with a pout.

“I’m on the clock and break is over,” Sara explains. Then, with a smirk, she adds: “Plus I’m fine with you owing me one when we get home.”

“More like three,” Felicity adds contently.

“Yeah? That good?” Sara probes as she washes her hand on the sink.

Felicity nods meekly.

“Then you’ll owe me three. And Ollie one,” Sara concludes, opening the door.

“Not that we ever keep score,” Felicity points out as she walks outside and into Oliver’s arms, feeling boneless and warm.

“You’d always win,” Sara comments before pressing a kiss to her temple and reaching up to kiss Oliver.


	18. Hickeys (Oliver/Sara/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ohmypreciousgirl prompted: Smoaking Canarrow, hickeys.

Over the past several months, Felicity has had a lot of sex. 

That’s not the point though, and yeah she is kind of proud and giddy about it (who wouldn’t be), but the point is that she’s had different  _kinds_ of sex. And no, not just different positions, or even different places on her body, or well… both.

They have different styles of sex altogether. Sometimes it’s just Sara and her: slow and languid while Oliver runs errands, sometimes coming back as they’re finishing and just watching from afar; but also sometimes, sometimes, it’s frenzied, in the foundry or the shower, not having to worry about the height difference or the fact Oliver takes up like  _a lot_  of room. Other times it’s just Oliver and her, the height difference working for her like crazy amounts, him taking up a lot of room in a different way. 

Most of the time, however, it’s the three of them, enough variations to keep her always guessing; she remembers watching Olympic swimming and thinking  _jesus, how many different types and styles and grouping of swimming can there be_ , and yeah, that’s pretty much how she feels about her sex life - minus the podium and the gold medals, and well, the timing. 

(Although sometimes they do have to time themselves, because Diggle gets impatient when he’s kept waiting, and Roy has super hearing.)

One of her favorite kinds of sex between the three of them, though, is  _I’m really glad we didn’t die tonight_ , because… well, they didn’t die, but also Sara and Oliver are equally desperate, usually enough to fight for control, their bodies littered with fresh bruises; and she really doesn’t like it when they get hurt, but she really, really likes to kiss down their bodies, sucking against unmarred skin until capillary vessels break.

She also really likes the morning after, when the bad bruises and the good ones are all mixed together, because it makes her feel like they really did it; they beat yet another evil, pushed off the darkness yet another day.

On those mornings, she gets up first, and gets them breakfast; Oliver’s favorite bagel place, Sara’s favorite coffee shop, and comes back to them with an industrial sized bottle of aspirin (sometimes, sometimes it’s something stronger).

Those mornings, the two usually return the favor, taking turns suckling against her skin (sometimes, sometime they don’t take turns at all), and her only requirement is  _somewhere the others can’t see_. She finds hickeys on her lower back, right by her left hip, several on her inner thigh; once there was one on the underside of her breast, surrounded by teeth marks where Sara had bitten down during an orgasm, her apologies shushed by Felicity. Oliver’s favorite spot is the nape of her neck, a line of them forming down her spine; she’s fairly sure it’s to get her to wear her hair down for the days to come, but she’s never gotten him to flat out admit it.

Those mornings, they eat in bed, not caring about crumbs or  anything outside their bedroom.


	19. You Gotta Tell Her (Sara/Oliver, Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jaegermighty, ohmypreciousgirl, lightphotographyart, rosietwiggs - basically a clusterfuck post of how Sara and Oliver bring Felicity into their sex lives because they both have the hots for. (who doesn't?)

Sara triple dog dares him one night, the first night Felicity goes home early all week. She dials the number from the contact list, noticing it's also saved as speed dial #2 and she shakes her head, on top of Oliver as he sits on Felicity's chair in the foundry.

Sara tells Felicity they got locked out of the system. Felicity rambles about their technological shortcomings, because getting stranded on an island for five years only gets you off the hook so many times.

Oliver grits an apology as Sara clenches around him, "See Oliver, I told you not to click there," she teases, devious smirk the whole time as Felicity walks them through the steps to fix their fake problem.

He wins the dare because he doesn't come even after five minutes, a twinge of shame on his face that Sara doesn't recognize from before (all those years ago), and then it clicks for her and she knows this time it's different.

"You gotta tell her," Sara says after she thanks Felicity and hangs up the phone.

Oliver stands up, carrying her effortlessly until he can press her against the training mats, drives into her faster and harder than before, until he's shaking from edging it out.

"You gotta tell her, Ollie," Sara repeats and then he's letting go.


	20. First Kiss (Sara/Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ohmypreciousgirl prompted: First Kiss

The truth is, they have many first kisses.

Sara and Oliver’s first kiss was on the middle of his bedroom floor, an empty glass bottle between them, seven other kids surrounding them. 

(It’s Sara’s first kiss ever, two years before the ill-fated party at Tommy’s. She just got her braces out and her teeth feel extra sensitive when his tongue slips past her lips.

She doesn’t let any of it show; pulls back from the kiss and shrugs with feigned nonchalance, fighting the urge to grin like a fool. 

Oliver doesn’t fight the urge, all ego and wide smirk as Tommy high-fives him. Three days later, he pretends he doesn’t remember her name in school.)

Oliver and Felicity’s first kiss is not part of a game, though it does feel like a dare. Their individual flight instincts get smothered in the kiss, his hand wrapping itself in her hair, her back hitting the back of the QC elevator.

(They’ve been fighting for weeks, barely acknowledging one another. They’re at odds in the foundry each night, and it only gets worse in the sunlight that streams through the windows of their office building each morning.

She threatens to leave the team, right after she tells him he has a 12:30 meeting, and right before she heads out for lunch - that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, what finally propels him forward with enough force to push past his fears about  _this_ , about putting her at risk, about letting her in that last part of him - the only part she hasn’t taken over yet.)

Sara and Felicity’s first kiss is all giddiness and spontaneity, the two of them tripping over Felicity’s coffee table in the darkened living room, Sara’s swift response making Felicity land on top so she doesn’t get hurt.

(This is perhaps the most daring of all the kisses, despite the giggles and smiles.)

The first time the three of them kiss isn’t exactly at the same time, Felicity cradled between Oliver and Sara, their mouths meeting at the base of her throat. 

(A few minutes later, Oliver swallows Felicity’s moans with his mouth, Sara’s lips pressing a different kind of kiss between Felicity’s legs.)


	21. Foundry Action (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> daisydaisyadair asked: Hmmm how about olicity, first time they get caught going at it (in the foundry/the office/in a storeroom at Verdant? Who knows! Surprise me :p)  
> (also filling sufferhopegracelessheart's prompt of: First time Oliver tells Diggle he’s going after Felicity.)

“What are we doing?” Felicity asks as Oliver sets her on one of her desks, the steam vents hissing behind them at the foundry.

“Are you seriously asking me this?” Oliver asks, the smirk on his half covered face is working for her. A lot.

(Also working for her: the way the light hits his hooded face, so she can mostly only see his chin and lips - glistening with her slickness; not to mention the way her inner thighs are turning a shade of red.)

“It was a rhetorical question,” she assures him as she helps him push green leather down until he’s free. 

“Victory sex,” he informs her, undoing the buttons on her silk blouse halfway down, and tugging on the cup of her bra until he can wrap his lips around the puckered tip.

“You do realize we can do this any time now, right?” She teases him. “You don’t actually need to shoot an arrow at a bad guy while going twice the speed limit on your motorcycle, which by the way was incredibly stupid.”

“Any time?” He inquires while brushing his lips against her sternum.

“Of course you acknowledge that while ignoring the part about how stupid that was,” she humphs. “Typical!”

The tip of him brushes against her entrance, his fingers gripping the back of her thighs. “Do you want me to slow down?”

“Yes, that would be— oh, you mean right now?” Sometimes she feels like she’s always catching up a second too late.

(Three months. Three months of late-night dinners and holding up her jackets for her every time they walked out together, hand firmly planted on her back. Three months of enough flowers to trigger her allergies. Three months of his hand lingering on her face or shoulder. 

Three months until he’d told her that the smartest person he knew could be the densest as his impatient lips had covered hers in the Queen Consolidated garage, same parking spot where he’d once bled while waiting for her, all those years before.)

“Don’t slow down,” she orders as he fills her, his fingers on the back of her thighs are squeezing hard and his breath is ragged. 

His rhythm is uneven, short and quick strokes, as if his knees are unsteady from the adrenaline crash, and she pushes the hood back and tugs on the mask until she can see his eyes, huge pupils staring back at her.

He does slow down as he runs his thumb over her lips, and she sucks on the skin of his fingertip, letting her tongue soothe it. When he pulls his finger back, he moves it between their bodies, right above where they’re joined, stroking the bundle of nerves in small circles.

She clings to him, hands gripping at leather and skin and anywhere she can reach, her hips moving against him as he resumes his thrusts. The desk is bolted down (she’d learned her lesson during the earthquake) but the metal groans in protest at the force being exerted, her knees moving up until she’s tightening her legs higher around his waist.

The orgasm hits both of them within seconds of each other, her brain just barely hearing the beep of the door upstairs clicking shut.

***

Some days, John Diggle truly hates his life - make that  _lives_.

He heads to the Verdant bar to order himself a tall drink to try to erase the previous four minutes from his memory.

Sure, the foundry isn’t a public place, but it isn’t exactly private either. And some things are just not meant to be seen. Or heard.  

All things considered, he guesses he should be glad it took this long until he’d walked in on those two.

There have been close calls, of course, ever since he drove Oliver home after Felicity had been hurt yet again, listening to the other man admit his feelings and voice his foolproof plan to make his intentions known.

The first close call was the morning after the first time, ringing Oliver’s doorbell so he could drive his friend/employer to work, and hearing a crash and muffled voices behind the closed door, re-holstering his weapon as he heard a voice that sounded a whole lot like Felicity’s.

Sure enough, five minutes later, Felicity opened the door, apologizing for keeping him waiting as she held one of Oliver’s button down shirts close to her body, her hair damp and her face free from any make up.

(“About damn time,” Diggle had added.

“Did everyone know but me?” Felicity had asked as she’d gathered her things across the living room, showing him way more leg than he was comfortable with seeing. The smile on her face, however, had helped qualm his fears.

Diggle had nodded, noticing the knocked over furniture that had been spotless the previous day.

Felicity had just shook her head at the betrayal. “Ugh, I’ll deal with you later. Can we stop by my place so I can change? I was going to drive home early this morning but I decided to shower first and then Oli— um, I got sidetracked.”

“I think that can be arranged, if you promise not to share any more.” Diggle had replied, setting very necessary boundaries.

“Promise,” Felicity had assured him as Oliver had appeared, fully dressed and for the first time in a long while, looking relaxed. 

“I am happy for you guys,” Diggle had said as the two of of them had slid into the backseat of the town car. “Just keep your hands where I can see them.”)


	22. Big Love AU (Sara/Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Sara/Oliver/Felicity AU: They live in a small town and live in a flat together. Just their daily lives and trying to hide their relationship. Super vague so you can change it up anyway you like.
> 
> Sorry anon, all I heard was Big Love!AU minus all the problematic things with that show and with 100% more femslash? okay. let’s try this.:

The night before the election is, by far, one of his worst. He drags his feet as he goes from bedroom to bedroom, turning lights off and second-guessing every decision he’s ever made.

His company had built this development eight years before; swanky, high-end lofts and condos, and he’d reserved the far right complex for his family. Officially, he and Sara and lived in the three-bedroom, open concept condo, while Felicity lived in the adjoining flat.

In reality, the three of them crashed in the flat more often than not; the extra bedrooms in the condo had been converted to a home office and spare rooms, while they continued to discuss the possibility and logistics of having children. The last time he and Sara had slept in the master bedroom had been during Dinah’s three-day visit, and it had felt foreign and uncomfortable, the two of them automatically leaving extra room on the king sized bed, this empty spot they couldn’t ignore or fill.

He checks the alarm system, activates it before crossing to the flat through the shared backyard feeling the early November chill in the air, mountain vista behind the eight-foot wall and privacy glass. He walks in to find Felicity making hot chocolate on the stove, the one with real melted chocolate that’s everyone’s favorite, Sara attached to her back, the two of them talking in whispers and soft laughter.

“There you are,” Felicity says, glancing up at him as he enters the kitchen area and undoes his tie. “You’re got your worried face on,” she points out, turning to him as she continues to stir the pot.

“Yeah, he does,” Sara whispers conspiratorially, chin firmly planted on Felicity’s shoulder, hands low on Felicity’s stomach, under her tank top.

“Just nervous,” he admits, leaning over to kiss both of them. 

“Everything will be fine,” Felicity says, in her most upbeat and reassuring voice.

He scratches his chin, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’d feel better if we’d been able to track Helena down.”

“Can’t change the past,” is all that Sara offers, but she does let go of Felicity to reach for him, and he gets an armful of sleepy Sara.

He hugs her tightly, Felicity shuffling awkwardly and dropping a kiss on his shoulder before she continues stirring.

“I’m sorry, still nothing coming up on my searches,” she explains, adjusting her glasses as they fog up. “I don’t think she’d go to the press. I know she wasn’t… stable, but she has nothing to gain.”

Oliver sighs, because there’s no way they could be sure what Helena is capable of. He and Sara had gotten married a decade before; the elopement had been sudden and unexpected, and had deeply hurt Sara’s sister, but they’d mended those fences over the years. It had been a model marriage for the first couple of years, until they’d met Helena Bertinelli.

The truth was that Oliver and Sara had been incredibly similar; being together was  _easy_  and simple. They’d loved each other, and while both their records with fidelity hadn’t exactly been spotless prior to their marriage, they were committed.

*

Helena hadn’t been about any of the cliche reasons; it hadn’t been about being bored with their love life and marriage, or about  _changing things up_. She’d come through their life like a dark-haired tornado, sudden and destructive, and disappeared in the same fashion leaving a path of debris in her wake.

Their marriage had hit a rough patch afterwards, picking up the pieces and wondering just what had drawn them to Helena in the first place.

They had been considering a divorce when Felicity had come into their lives; Oliver had been eating lunch with Sara, having yet another conversation about their relationship and where they expected to go from there. His computer had acted up, and he’d been taken his frustration out on it. The new IT tech had come by at his assistant’s request, gasping as she’d seen the cracked screen.

Sara had felt the spark almost immediately, but Oliver… it had taken him four minutes longer, as Felicity had called him out on his bullshit excuse.

They’d invited her to dinner that night; Oliver had laughed harder that night than in his entire life before that moment. They’d had dinner together almost weekly after that, going to the movies and playing board games at Oliver and Sara’s place.

One night, about six weeks in, Sara had kissed Felicity mid-board game, the two of them falling backwards on the living room floor, Felicity’s breathy moans of surprise turning into something else entirely. 

“Wow? I just… I didn’t know this was a thing that happened in real life, you know,” she’d said as Sara had nipped across her jawline. 

“Is this okay?” Sara had asked, running her tongue down the column of Felicity’s throat.

“Unexpected to say the least, but I think I’m okay? More than okay, definitely more than okay,” Felicity had babbled, tugging on Sara’s shirt. “How about you, Oliver?” she’d asked.

“He’s fine,” Sara had reassured her, not wanting to spook her. Felicity was four years younger than Sara, seven years younger than him, and she’d admitted she had no experience with anything like this. And truly, he’d been fine.

He’d been better when Felicity had stood up, pulled him to her, and kissed him. What she’d lacked in experience, she’d more than made up with eagerness and acceptance, fitting into their life (and marriage) like a missing puzzle piece.

*

“You’re brooding,” Felicity points out as she hands him a mug of hot chocolate.

“Good memories now,” he reassures her, taking his mug as well as hers, and heading to the couch. Sara follows him with her own mug, resting her head on his shoulder when they settle down.

Felicity throws the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and catches up with them, sitting sideways on his lap and resting her legs on Sara’s.

They sit in silence, Felicity and him sipping on their hot cocoas for a few minutes. Sara ignores her mug (probably already full from sneaking bites of the chocolate earlier), choosing to run her hands up and down Felicity’s leg instead.

“I’m just not sure running for city council is the best idea,” he explains.

“We’re behind you,” Sara reminds him. “We made this decision as a family. We’ll deal with any fallout the same way.”

“Plus, you know, your wives are hot, so I’m sure that’d get you points with some of the constituents,” Felicity jokes. “Seriously though, you want to help the city. Everything else is secondary.” She kisses him, splashing some hot chocolate on herself. “Okay, ow, that’s hot,” she complains, pulling at the fabric of her tank top, a circular patch on her skin turning an angry pink.

“I can help,” Sara offers, bunching up the fabric of the tank top and bending down to press soothing kisses against Felicity’s stomach.

Oliver cradles Felicity’s upper body against his, setting her mug on the side table. He sips his hot chocolate, enjoying the breathy sighs she makes as Sara’s tongue travels across her abdomen until she’s pulling Felicity’s nipple between her teeth.

“I don’t think I spilled any there,” Felicity comments even as her fingers wrap themselves around Sara’s hair.

“Are you sure?” Sara asks but it comes out muffled. “Ollie, what do you think?”

“I think we should check it,” he agrees, setting his mug down and twisting Felicity in his arm until he can wrap his lips around the other nipple.

“Whoa,” Felicity gasps. “Sorry, your mouth is like super warm from the hot cocoa,” she explains. “And Sara’s… isn’t. So, yeah, different.”

“Good different?” he asks, and she nods vehemently, pulling his head back into place.

He stops thinking about the election after that.


	23. Let The Stars Watch (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> book-lover72 asked: If you are currently taking prompts: Thea walks in oliver's office while felicity was fixing some wires and she thinks felicity was giving him a blow job?or something like that.

*

1.

Thea walks into the manager’s office at the Verdant for her standing lunch date with her brother, who’s sitting behind the only desk in the room, hands reaching for something under the desk.

Speaking of things under the desk, Thea glances down to find a pair of heels sticking out, bright pink and— are those whiskers? 

“To the left,” her brother says before he notices her. “Yeah, right there,” his hands moving as he reaches for something out of sight.

Thea tries to walk out without being noticed, but the disgusted gasp she can’t hold in announces her presence.

“Thea!” Her brother shouts, and then he’s standing up and she turns around because  _oh god, no! Ew._ At the office? “What’s wrong?”

She turns back towards him, covering her eyes. “I, uh, I can come back later. When you’re, you know, done.”

He sounds genuinely confused as he asks: “What are you talking about?”

She uncovers her eyes as she hears him approaching her, and he’s— wait. Everything’s normal?

“Fel— Ms. Smoak was just finishing up the server installation for the club,” he explains. 

Sure enough, the owner of the odd shoes slides up from under the furniture, dusting off her hands. “The fireproof case for the server makes installation and cabling a bit of an issue,” she explains as she adjusts her glasses.

Thea recognizes her but just barely, and she’s about to apologize, the woman gasps loudly.

“You must think we were— I was— oh.”

“What?” Oliver demands, still glancing between the two of them in confusion.

The woman - Felicity is her name, Thea’s brain finally remembers - is frantically shaking her head. “No, no. No. Definitely no, with a side of not happening.”

Oliver raises his hands in a pleading manner. “Can someone please speak in full sentences?”

Thea sighs. “Come on, Ollie. I walked in, saw you on the chair, a pair of women’s shoes sticking out from under the desk in the dim lighting of this office. What would you have thought?”

The look on her brother’s face is actually priceless. 

“Are you… blushing?” Thea asks, covering her mouth as she starts to laugh. “Oh my god, that is too precious.”

“Felicity, I will see you later,” he announces, gritting the words out.

“I’ll see you,” Felicity replies. “But for, you know, technical reasons. I have a degree from MIT in Information Technology. You should ask Walter, he knows I’m good at what I do—ugh, my job. I’m good at my job,” she offers to Thea as she passes the younger woman, waving her goodbye.

“Ollie,” Thea says between laughs. “I’m sorry.”

“Let’s go get lunch.” His jaw is clenched as he kisses her forehead in greeting. “Not one word about what just happened, Thea. Not one.”

Thea notices Felicity punching in a code to the basement as they walk out, but she doesn’t think much of it.

*

2.

Thea’s memory has gaps, like her brain couldn’t fully process those five years her father and brother were gone, so sometimes she has trouble remembering things in a chronological order. Memories of Ollie get mixed with memories of her eighth grade graduation, and childhood memories of her father get erased completely.

But one thing she does remember: Ollie always had a girl over. It’s Laurel in most of her memories, but sometimes it’s someone else; models, random girls from school, the hostess from Thea’s ninth birthday party at the fancy restaurant they went to, because Moira refused to subject their family to a place with a ball pit and fun prizes.

Girls don’t come by anymore, but Ollie never seems lonely.

When her brother vanishes this time, she’s in shock for a while. The first time she lost him to a storm, this time it’s after the earth threatened to swallow them whole.

She’s alone after the cops come for her mother, truly alone this time. 

It should make her crumble, but instead it gives her resolve; this time there’s no one for her to take care of or worry about.

Her energy gets channeled into the club; for the first time ever, she meets with lawyers and accountants to go over her trust fund, investment options. She does okay, real well even, up until they provide her with a brochure, her net worth in bold font on a piece of paper and then she has to walk out of the room.

She thinks about Roy, about almost losing him in the quake. Thinks about her dad, lost at sea, her mother in jail and Ollie god knows where.  _People aren’t numbers._

The Verdant needs a few repairs but she takes care of it; Roy helps. Walter is just a phone call away, his British voice giving her the Cliff’s Notes on Business 101.

Felicity comes by to help redo the tech setup for the club, and update their point-of-sale system to something easier to use. They try to talk once, Felicity lacking some of her bubbliness from their previous meetings, but the conversation stalls; the blonde woman returns to the basement area, tells Thea the cabling for the network runs from the storage area, so she needs access. 

Thea watches as Felicity goes in and out of the basement for months, long after the club reopens. She figures Felicity’s grieving in her own way, and whatever’s downstairs seems to help, because the woman starts smiling again the few times she notices Thea watching her.

Maybe Ollie hadn’t been as alone as Thea had thought.

*

3.

Felicity’s around even more when Ollie returns, at the club, at the office the few times Thea stops by.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day you would be punctual,” she comments one day as her brother meets her at the lobby. “But I think we have Felicity’s tablet to thank for that.”

Her brother shrugs, kisses Thea on the cheek. “It’s not what you think,” he assures her.

“I’m not thinking anything,” Thea lies.

Her suspicions are strengthened when Felicity shows up for the Christmas party at the manor.

They’re also disproven fifteen minutes later when Thea watches her dance with a scrawny looking kid, all awkward smiles and blushes. Ollie watches them, but Thea can’t decipher the look on his face.

A few weeks later, she catches a newly-resurrected-Sara sneaking out of Ollie’s room at the mansion, and maybe things haven’t changed much at all.

*

4.

“Roy!?Answer your damn phone,” she shouts into his mailbox for the tenth time that evening.

The club is packed; her new bartender just vanished mid-rush, and she can’t get in touch with her boyfriend. It’s basically her worst nightmare come true - okay, no, that has happened before, when she was eleven. This is her worst  _professional_  nightmare come true.

She’s about to jump behind the counter and start taking orders, city ordinances be damned, when she notices a familiar flash of blonde hair from the corner of her eye. At first she thinks Sara has returned, but then she takes in the glasses and cardigan.

“Felicity?” She asks as Felicity ties the half apron around her pleated skirt. 

“Sara asked me to cover for her,” Felicity offers, the words rushing together. “Your brother needed her.”

Thea scrunches her face. “Okay, gross.”

“Not like that!” Felicity amends. “Emergency. Um, you know, family emergency. Her family, not yours. Obviously.”  

Thea sighs. “Have you done this before? Tending bar, mixing cocktails?” 

“You really do not want to know the answer to that,” Felicity warns. “But there’s an app for that, right?”

Sin brushes past Thea, tapping her on the shoulder. “I’ll help the kindergarten teacher.”

“I don’t really have any options right now, so…  I’m just gonna walk away and hope this works. When in doubt, just remember, give them extra booze and they won’t complain.”

“Duly noted,” Felicity replies right before Thea hears the sound of glass shattering behind the counter.

Thea calculates she lost about twenty percent revenue with free drinks that evening, but by some miracle her club managed to maintain its liquor license, so it wasn’t a total loss.

*

5

Thea eventually catches on to what happens behind the secured door and the truth about Roy, Sara and her brother. She doesn’t tell anyone while she processes it, just watches their group from afar, feeling betrayed and excluded.

Once the shock wears off, she feels… numb. She can’t believe it has taken this long to put it all together, wonders if maybe she refused to see the signs out of self-preservation.

Little after little, she works through it, watches as night after night several of them leave the club after the sun goes dow; watches as how they sometimes limp back in before sunrise.

One Saturday afternoon, Sin and Roy are helping her reorganize the stage area since they have a live band coming in, and she watches as her brother runs past her, barely greeting her. Not even two minutes go by before Felicity follows, almost hugging the back wall of the club as if the bright blue dress she’s wearing didn’t stick out.

“Guess you guys have to go too?” Thea asks, sick of the charade.

“Go where?” Sara asks, popping up from behind the bar counter and drying off some glasses.

“I figured it out, Sara. Or should I say Black Canary?” Thea announces. “All the family emergencies and the way all of you abruptly end your conversations when I enter the room. And you,” she pokes Roy in the chest. “You said you were done with this. You promised!”

“Thea, it’s not like that,” Roy argues, trying to put his hand on her arm but she flinches and he lets go of her so fast, it’s as if she’d burnt his skin. “I won’t get hurt,” he offers.

“We had to keep it a secret,” Sara explains, jumping over the bar counter with ease and grace.

“I wanted to tell you,” Roy pleads. “But I had to keep you safe. You were safer not knowing.”

“That’s a load of—“ she pauses, takes a deep breath. “I’ll deal with you later,” she says, not wanting a scene. “Now go, I’m sure you have vigilante business to handle.”

The three glance at her in confusion, Sin’s head tilting like the first time she saw Thea’s shoe collection. 

“I just saw my brother walk out of here, and Felicity follow him. I’ve seen that enough times to know to turn the TV on and wait for the newscasters to show what the hell the Starling vigilante posse is up to.”

Sara’s heads falls as she starts laughing, and then Sin and Roy join her. “I’m sorry, Thea. God, I’m sorry, I don’t— you’re right. That is the case nine out of ten times.”

Thea frowns. “And the tenth time?”

“Sometimes those two sneak away to do things you don’t want to know,” Sin offers. 

“Especially when they forget to turn off comms,” Roy points out with a look of disgust.

“Wait…” Thea says, putting it all together. “I thought you and him,” she adds, gesturing towards Sara.

“Not as of late,” Sara offers. “Don’t worry, good terms.”

“And you’re cool with…?” Thea points to the door her brother had walked through.

“Kinda relieved to tell you the truth.” Sara smiles. “How about you? How are you processing all of this?” 

“Gonna need some more time,” Thea offers, shooting a deadly look in Roy’s direction. “But I think I’ll get there.”

“Then welcome to the club, kiddo,” Sara adds before pulling Thea into a hug. Sin follows a second later, before Roy hesitantly joins them.


	24. Heatwave (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> itsalwaysfour asked: NO NO NO NO NO. Felicity kills someone (I dunno???) and there's a power outage heatwave rookie blue sort of deal. BUT THEN SHE GOES TO VISIT OLIVER. and then they make out but the power comes back on and it's all awkward after that. (shut up you gave me these feelings) [--- Rookie Blue homage?]

Oliver is upset bc they have so much shit going on, but she sticks with this one case and drags Diggle with her and he gets shot (but he’s wearing a vest,  _god he’s wearing a vest_ , so she takes his gun and she runs and runs and she’s shaking so hard but she does it, she kills the guy and she understands what Oliver meant when he said there was no choice to make. 

(It’s easy to draw the line in the sand when you’re not the one crossing it.)

Detective Lance drives them to the hospital, reassures her there won’t be an investigation; she’s lucky he was the first responder on the scene. He’s always cleaning up their messes, and it weighs on her like an anchor.

Diggle’s making jokes in the hospital (she drove him there even though he insisted the foundry was fine but she’s googled  _collapsed lung_ a few times too many) and she’s about 70% sure the jokes are for her benefit; Lyla gets there and it’s too hot and depressing in there.

Oliver finds her walking out of the hospital, and drives her home; he’s on his bike, she took off her comm so there’s just uncomfortable silence as they cross past the Glades, zipping through the hot air.

"Felicity…" he says when she gets off his bike and pulls her keys out, walking away. "I’m here, if you want to talk about it."

She shakes her head, not trusting her voice not to break. Two very loud heartbeats later she tries a smile. “I’ll… I’ll be okay,” she lies.

He nods and puts his helmet on, waving his phone at her like a promise. 

She breaks down on her living room floor less than four minutes later, thick tears streaming down her face. She wants to call Sara, half a world away, but this isn’t fair to Sara; sure she knows her friend would reassure her she did the right thing, but it’s not what Felicity’s looking for. 

Barry is her second choice, but he has enough problems of his own; she knows he’d run the distance to her front step in less time than it’d take her to get the words out. Yet she can’t bring herself to dump her problem on him, not now, not  _this_.

She runs past her front door, not bothering to lock it behind her; she even forgets her phone (she never forgets her phone) and she runs around the new housing developments on the edge of the Glades. Young kids chase each other with squirt guns, while older kids hang around grills with red plastic cups and loud music playing from a wireless speaker. Her hair is down and she can’t remember what she did with her hair tie, so it whips around her face, the ends sticking against the sheen of sweat clinging to her skin.

By the time she makes it to the backdoor to the Verdant, it’s all darkness (Thea had learned her lesson last time she’d tried throwing a blackout night party, and darkness and heatwaves don’t mix well with crows and booze).

Felicity’s making her way to the electronic keypad (she can hear the hum of the generator under her feet) when she hears something above her, glances up to see his familiar dark form pacing in the office, shadow being cast by some light source she can’t see yet.

She knocks once, twice, and then he’s there; he’s changed and showered judging by his wet hair, and she forgets what she’s been planning to say.

"You want to talk?" he asks with his hand still on the doorknob, his other hand holding his cellphone as it shines a light around the room.

She shakes her head, and then she’s pushing him into the office; she worries he might misunderstand her, but then he catches up, his jaw tightening right before he lifts her onto the desk and his mouth descends on hers.

His phone falls onto the desk, this weirdly electronic mood lightning that’s somehow suiting to them, and she can’t feel the heatwave anymore, her skin breaking out in chills everywhere. His mouth is insistent against hers, his tongue brushing against hers with determination, and she loses herself in the kiss, his body pressing against hers.

The smell of his body soap is almost too much for her senses, and she tugs on his t-shirt, wanting it gone as much as she wants it all over her skin. He takes the time to move them to the couch, lifting her off the desk in one swift move, her thighs wrapped tightly around his hips until her back makes contact with the couch.

Her glasses fog up from their breath and the humid air, and she ignores it as he pulls her top off, leaving her in just one of her utilitarian bras, plain white cotton. His hands brush gently against the sides of her breast, far more gentle than she would’ve expected, and the reverent look on his face will be her undoing (later, when she closes her eyes and remembers this moment).

He settles between her legs, the scruff on his jaw brushes against her breastbone, his lips sucking against her skin, and her stomach does this weird thing but before she can wonder about it, he’s grinding his hips into hers and even though two layers of denim she can feel  _him._ She gasps loudly, and she tries to angle her hips up but the center of his mass is pressing against her, so she arches her torso instead, her partially covered chest meeting his naked chest. She can feel some of his scars against the sensitive skin of the top of her breasts, and her hands reach for this shoulders and jaw, trying to get some purchase.

He manages to blindly hit a very good spot through their clothes, and her vision goes white, loud humming setting in her ears as she bites her lower lip. When she blinks, she realizes the lights have come back on (the humming wasn’t all in her ears), and he’s above her, dead still, staring into her eyes.

The memory of the weight of Diggle’s gun comes back, and she hears his phone ringing on the desk. 

"It’s Thea," he says, recognizing the ringtone, "probably wants to know if we should open up the club or not."

She nods, letting her breath return to normal. “You should take that,” she says, ignoring the empty feeling in her stomach when he pulls away.

Her hands run through her hair when she sits up, and she tugs her shirt back on as she hears him speak in the comforting-yet-expectant tone he uses with just his sister. 

She slips out of the office, makes her way back to the foundry, her safe haven. When he finds her twenty minutes later, his shirt is back on and his hair is dry. He’s carrying a bottle of iced coffee, some new brand the club started carrying just a couple of weeks earlier, and he offers it to her.

She stares at the hood in the display case and the arrows next to it while he tells her a story about the island, his voice pausing every so often like he’s either trying hard to remember or he’s changing the story for her benefit. 

(Either way, they don’t talk about the gunpowder residue in her hand, or the red mark he left on her clavicle.)


	25. Kidding Ourselves (Oliver/Sara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> naleys asked: "We were kidding ourselves all along." Oliver/Sara.

The night has long fallen, and there’s an exhaustion setting deep in his bones that outlasts even his hot shower.

She comes in through his bedroom window, black leather and easy sweat, and he flicks his towel at the corner of the room.

“You have a key, you know?” he barks out, not making eye contact.

“I know,” is all she replies, because she doesn’t carry a goddamn keychain like a normal human being, last time he pointed this out she reminded him her dad taught her to pick a lock when she was eight, and he lost that argument.

(There’s a strong likelihood he’s in a bad mood today. Diggle had straight up walked out of the foundry that day, like a human barometer of Oliver Queen’s mood swings.

It’s possible it’s more than a bad mood, and it’s also possible it’s not just today. Diggle has already spent days staring daggers at him and pointing out his outbursts.)

He stops thinking about Diggle, picks Sara up by the waist instead. The wig falls off, gets kicked to the side and under his bed. She bites his lip, hard, breaking the skin and the coppery tastes fills his senses so he tugs on her hair (her real hair, curling at the ends from being tucked in for so long) until she’s squeezing his hips so hard in retaliation that he can feel the bruises forming.

It’s hard and fast between them, her leather pants barely pushed down before he bends her over the office desk he has by the window of his room. She headbutts him when she comes, her skull making sharp contact with his jaw and he’s pretty sure it’s an accident, but there’s a good chance it’s not.

(The possibilities don’t slow him down, if anything it fuels his need, and he collapses on top of her, the fastenings on the back of her corset digging into the skin of his chest.)

“Damn,” she says under him, her voice muffled by the keyboard of his computer (this stupid all-in-one machine he bought just because Felicity said it was a good one).

“I hear you,” he adds when he pulls back, pulling her against him, and guiding them to the bed.

“Nyssa left me a message today,” she explains when he lowers them onto the unmade bed.

“Oh,” he replies, because her mood also makes sense now.

“Yeah…” It’s all she offers as she strips down to her underwear, curling her body away from his, into a pillow she hugs.

“Is it safe?” He asks, and she shrugs (meaning  _safe enough_ , because safety is relative with them). “You should go see her,” he adds, laying behind her.

“And you should pick up your phone and call Central City,” she spits out, half of it muffled by a pillow.

“She doesn’t want to be bothered,” he reminds her. It’s only been a week. He’s not that pathetic.

Sara snorts at him, “Right. And the broken dummy at the foundry has nothing to do with her impromptu vacation.”

They’re fooling themselves; they know that much, discussed it out loud a few times. But as her hair tickles his face on the pillow, he forgets that; he knows by the morning she will too.


	26. Sum of All Your Parts (Oliver/Sara/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birthday fic for boofadil.

Felicity barely glances up when Sara shows up at the office around 7:15pm, wearing a red leather jacket over a dark blue dress (and a smirk, always a smirk).

“Can’t believe you guys are still here,” she says as she plops down on the chair in front of Felicity’s desk.

“I’m so sorry, Sara,” Felicity says. “The Applied Sciences department messed up big time, and we’re about to miss a huge patent deadline, last minute emergency Board meeting,” she explains all in one breath.

 

Sara frowns, slumping on the chair, the disappointment evident in her face.

“Raincheck?” Felicity asks, putting on her best begging face. “I know we’ve had this date scheduled for like forever but this is big.  _Isabel_  is flying in.”

“It’s fine,” Sara lies, standing up and shrugging it off. “I’ll go see what Sin’s up to,” she concedes, waving at Oliver before making her way back to the elevator.

(Oliver does a good job on his pretend conference call, waving back in a distraught manner. It shouldn’t surprise her, really, but it kind of does.)

Felicity almost feels guilty as she watches Sara get on the elevator. When the doors close, she reaches for her phone to give Sin a heads up.

 

*

Fighting crime in a dress is definitely not a good idea, Sara realizes about a minute too late. But she didn’t exactly have time to go and change, and Sin isn’t picking up her phone - those purse snatchers definitely had it coming. Maybe she did go a little overboard, but this is one night that’s supposed to be about  _her_  and she doesn’t even care about her birthday, except she does care that everyone apparently forgot.

Anyway, the purse snatchers will live, but they’ll probably need a cast. Harder to attack women in an alley when you’re on crutches after all.

A few too many rocks need kicking on her way home (she takes the long route there, not like she’s eager to come home to an empty house), fights three more assailants. Perps aren’t even trying, and she’s not even as imposing as she’d like in this outfit. 

(It helps a bit though.)

She notices the shadows in her living room before she makes it to the porch, and she finds the shovel by the shed, holds it like a weapon before she slowly opens the door—

_“SURPRISE!”_

The lights come on and Thea throws a handful of something at her (is that confetti?), their living room packed with friends and family.

Sara drops the shovel on the ground before Laurel can ask any questions, and then she’s being pulled into a hug by her father, who wishes her a happy birthday.

“What are you now, thirty-three?” he teases.

“Shut up, dad,” she replies, knowing full well he knows her age.

“Love ya, kiddo,” he adds, kissing her cheekbone.

Laurel hugs her next, then Sin and Roy. Thea does this little hop before she grabs Sara’s hands and wishes her a happy birthday, just a ball of energy.

Diggle towers over her in a protective manner as he greets her, vows not to take it easy on her the next day on the mats just because she’s getting old now.

The two masterminds however, hang by the back of the room as Sara makes her way through the small sea of people until she sees them; Oliver is leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, Felicity standing in front of him, his arm wrapped around high around her shoulders.

“How did that emergency board meeting go?” Sara asks.

“I did what I had to do to keep my secret,” Felicity offers, mouth curling into a smile. 

“She orchestrated the whole thing,” Ollie explains, reaching into the pockets of his jacket with his free hand before bringing a small velvet box out, and throwing it at her.

Sara has no problems catching it (vigilante reflexes and all), but she quirks an eyebrow at the two of them, something that’s not quite fear settling into her gut. When she opens the box though, she finds a familiar key. “I don’t get it,” she says, staring at the key.

“Your bike has gone through some major upgrades,” Felicity explains. “Just be glad I talked him out of buying you a new one.”

Oliver shrugs, the conversation is an old one between the three of them. Sara leans into the two of them, hugging them at the same time as she whispers a thank you.

 

*

When he gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom to clean up, he feels worn out, like he just spent an hour or two on the salmon ladder; the muscles on his hip and thighs protesting everything that happened once the guests had left for the night. 

(There are crescent-shaped marks all over his back and arms, four sets overlapping with each other.)

He’d walked around the house, checking the locks on the windows and the doors, and making sure Felicity’s alarm system was properly armed. It was something so small (their enemies usually didn’t bother picking locks), but it always made him feel good.

(What had made him feel even better: entering the master bedroom and seeing Felicity and Sara intertwined on the bed, the two of them so lost in each other they hadn’t noticed him for several minutes.)

After he runs water over his face, he grabs two of the washcloths (baby-soft cotton, a set of towels he brought with him from the mansion) and runs them under lukewarm water. He doesn’t bother with clothing as he makes his way back to the bed, the two of them facing away with Sara in the middle of the bed, Felicity curled around her back. Felicity’s breath pattern is starting to change (it signals approaching sleep) while Sara looks almost relaxed for once.

“Hey,” he says softly, touching Sara’s leg when he reaches them. He doesn’t want to disturb them but doesn’t want to startle her either, and she nods back at him. He runs the washcloth behind her knee and up each of her legs; he doesn’t miss the bite marks on the inside of her thighs, or the way her muscles still tremble from renewed and brief stimuli when he reaches her core. 

He repeats the actions on Felicity, who grunts her appreciation into Sara’s hair, and then turns the washcloth over to wipe something that looks a lot like birthday cake off of Felicity’s ribcage and under her breast. (He’s not entirely sure what happened before he’d joined them in bed, but now he kind of wants to know).

Felicity moves closer to Sara when he’s done, and he plops down in bed on the other side of Sara. He lays on his side facing them, Sara’s rare easy smile meeting his eyes.

“Thank you,” she says. “For tonight, for everything.”

He nods, and remembers how he didn’t quite feel like celebrating his birthday since he got back from the island, and he didn’t understand why Thea made such a big deal of it.

(“If anyone’s got a reason for celebrating still being alive, it’s the person who was believed to be dead for all those years,” she’d said one day.)

“You’ve earned it,” he tells Sara, before he kisses her forehead. She leans into his neck when he pulls back, Felicity shifting along with them in her sleep until they’re all pressed together in the middle of the bed. Sara usually gets restless, especially when she’s in the middle, but she’s content tonight and she embraces it.


	27. Dreams (Oliver/Felicity)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> itsalwaysfour asked: ” Yes, okay..I’ve dreamt about you and now? You’re all I can think about.“ + Olicity.

About five minutes after Oliver walked away from Felicity’s old cubicle at QC that first day, he made a conscious decision not to go  _there_.

(Years before, the resolution would’ve turned into a game. He’s fairly sure that’s how he ended up with Sara on the Gambit, like they were playing a staring contest with life and no one blinked until the storm came.)

Things he didn’t count on: Felicity having zero regard for his resolution, and his subconscious tricking him in the rare instances he manages to dream.

The dreams start out typical enough that first year, not exactly innocent (the gold dress is featured quite prominently for at least a month), but it doesn’t affect his…  _everything_. That doesn’t come until after Count Vertigo smashes into the ground outside their office building.

Dreams he has shortly after that: Felicity running her lips against his bruises, paying special attention to one on his hip, the metal of her earrings cold against his skin. Wrapping his fingers into her hair as she rides him on the med bay table, her glasses hanging precariously on the edge of her nose as her lips form a perfect circle above him. Waking her up with his head between her legs, imagining the sight of her at daybreak, tasting her as the first rays of sunlight stream through her imaginary windows, at the townhome he’s only seen from the outside.

The dreams are spaced out, much like his sleep pattern - or lack thereof - and he tries not to dwell too much on it during his waking hours (he often fails, flashes of the dreams permeating his train of thought as he stands watch at a rooftop, resisting the urge to stroke the skin over her collarbone when he touches her while he’s awake).

He does succeed at keeping himself from acting on it, for a while at least. He’s significantly less successful at keeping  _her_  from acting on it.

The first kiss happens mid-argument, her mouth on his like she’s ending the discussion on her terms. The softness of her lips clashes with the authoritative nature of her actions, and he’s too stunned to respond, too dumbstruck to realize she takes his passiveness the wrong way.

She runs out of the foundry, ignoring him as he calls out her name.

That night, a storm front moves into Starling City, and he tosses and turns in bed for hours, scar tissue aching from the humidity. When he finally manages to sleep, he dreams about her mouth; wakes up so hard he can hardly breathe.

(Keeping himself from going there with Felicity ends up being a challenge anyway.)


	28. Ground Wire (Oliver/Sara)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jaegermighty asked: "stay with me" or "bend over" oliver/sara!!!!!!!!

They’re like each other’s grounding wire, bursts of energy dispersing in a safe manner.

(Alternatively: they’re each other’s anchor. They don’t appreciate that metaphor as much.)

As he kisses his way around her stomach, he remembers the cockiness of his younger self, sex in the bathroom of the bar where she worked. Sure, he hasn’t changed entirely, but he has matured enough to know his younger self had nothing on him now. 

The air around them smells like leather and sweat, the steam vents in the back of the foundry hissing. 

Sara pushes him now, sits him down and straddles him on the cot; the confident smirk on her face is a distant cousin from the unsure quirk of her lips when she’d sneak into his dorm all those years ago.  

Her hands are as calloused as his, as dirty as his - possibly dirtier. 

(They shake as much as his do sometimes, slight tremors before battle or after a climax.)

She senses his thoughts drifting away, bites a mark on his shoulder to get him to come back to her. He pinches her nipple in response, watching as she bites her lips and her chest arches into his hand.

Sara hisses louder than the vents when she comes, eyes shutting tight as her hips draw figure eights, dragging the feeling out. When she’s done, he turns her over and picks her up, arm wrapping around her middle as he thrusts into her from behind.

The height is awkward at first, until she folds her torso over his arm and he curls his body protectively around the curve of her back, the two of them fitting together like two adjacent pieces of the same puzzle.


End file.
